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Sunday, February 8th, 2026
Winner: Weekly Poems Contest #28
by Zahir Turaj
In the fog, at the edge of the world, a dry leaf fell beside a half-eaten apple, which a snail, slowly, drank of its sweetness. The clouds had swallowed half the moon in the earth's sleep. No one came. No sound brought anything back. Only the smell of bread remained in the nameless evening air. And the sun – a small coin – slipped into dust.
Biography of the Poet
My name is Zahir Turaj. I was born in Afghanistan in 1961 and studied literary studies at Kabul University.
I have lived in the Netherlands as a refugee since the 1990s.
My poems were originally written in Persian and later translated into English.
Keywords: fog, moon, bread, sun, dust
Previously Published in Weekly Poems:
"After the Chairs Are Folded" by Tumelo Corban Tshabangu
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