Poetry from Ahmad Al-Khatat

Cried on My Own

I said a few
silly jokes,
people laughed at me

I shared
my pain,
people judged me

I tried to focus
on my happiness,
but I failed terribly

I learned to
write poetry
and cried on my own

Write My Name

O Baghdad, write down my name
on a list of young dead civilians
being alive doesn’t always mean
everything is alright with me

I talk with tears falling on my heart
I listen with tears falling on my face
I see with tears falling on my spirit
my life has been worse than it seems

my shadow loses me whenever I want
to walk to the cemetery, only because
I have missed my friends who are no
longer around me; nor longer in this world

O Montreal, forgive me for my weakness
I am just tired of being strong for too long
write my name on the waiting list of death
So, I can sleep with my open wounds

Sensitive

The clouds are coming back
With a seasonal race between
the holy rain and my salty tears
creating a bridge to chase me away
only because I have been sensitive

I am all alone under the drops of rain
singing my misery to a broken tree
since we are broken, waiting on death
people say that I should more open
friends are just actors in my journey

I’m thirty years and still cannot stop crying
thirty years filled with thorns of sorrows
thirty years filled with worse decisions
thirty years filled with bleeding wounds
thirty years filled with pieces of broken dreams

I walk behind the mirror hiding my feelings
I blindfold my sights from my sad emotions
if love comes softly, why do I walk to the

cemetery, attending my life funeral by myself
just because I am sensitive and lost

One Rusty Immigrant

It’s amazing how people act nowadays
they talk, eat, and laugh as if they are drunk,
they judge from listening to silly jokes

I hurt you and you did not say a single word
then you hurt me deep in my veins and heart
I cry a river of sorrows, or a cloud on a miserable day

Your smile is my weakness, help me to smile
I’m one rusty immigrant, living and dying every day
I smile, and my wounds open up deeply

I have no hate because my country hates me
I have no black spots in my heart toward anyone
only because I am dead from the moment I have

my Canadian citizenship, since then people are
wonderful with me, they ignore my thirst,
they ignore my hunger, and if I die, they ignore me

Yes, my problem is I love to shine bright under
the clouds of autumn, I also adore blooming as peace
above by the moon and stars for all the kissing couples

Here I am, alone drunk as hell from today’s society
feeling numb to continue walking towards my journey,
I wish to sleep and never wake up again


Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally and has poems translated into several languages. He has been nominated for Best of the Net 2018. He is the author of The Bleeding Heart Poet, Love On The War’s Frontline, Gas Chamber, Wounds from Iraq, and Roofs of Dreams. He lives in Montreal, Canada.

Poetry from Ahmad Al-Khatat

Death Philosophy 

Someone who loves 

chilling  

dancing  

drinking 

smoking 

asks me if I write with an ink? 

 

I answer to her with  

yes, it’s from  

my pain 

my ache 

my lonely  

my grief  

with the colour of death philosophy 

  

Will Be Quite 

I’m seeking a land, and not a homeland
Without the aid of Google maps, instead 

I will discover a new land with a loyal pet as
I gave up from my friends a long time ago 

I want to work like a bee, and fly with
the birds by the beautiful blue skies 

I create a family of different plants
with seeds of my own, and rain from God 

being a writer is being a father of griefs, and
writing about what the city lights hid from me 

the rain drops wash the rooves of leaders
and damage the shelters of few believers 

with my eyes I see, while nothing stops me from
crying when I hear my adopted brother’s dying 

I jump into the dead sea to cure my wounds
as I will have new cuts with no pain as long as 

I will be drinking whiskey, and creating an unhealthy
cloud from the smoke of my addiction to cigarettes 

being happy doesn’t mean I’m sleeping without
counting the stars, instead it’s another way to 

forget that I am actually being hanged to death
since the day, I decided to own a colour of the rainbow 

I will be quite with the mirror, and hold
The candle dropping more wax in my throat 

  

Accent of Grief  

I stepped above my spirit
to release the joys from the bottom
of my belly button 

I broke my heart a few times
To feel a healthy beat to enjoy
every misery I face on my own 

I cracked my brain to recall
the times when my father wasn’t a man,
when he knew about death 

I drank dark roast coffee
to bitter my words from saying them
to the clock on the dull wall 

I cried as a powerless musician
because I knew that my blues and jazz
have a deep accent of grief 

 

A Foreign Student and Shaving Blades 

A few weeks ago
I went to the washroom in a
Coffee shop nearby to my school 

there by the sink
I saw shaving blades
I was shocked and terrified in the moment 

I went back to my table
to study my homework, next to me
a foreign student was talking on the phone 

he spoke the same language as I do,
his mouth was smiling, and his eyes were
watery creating a river of lonesome homesickness 

turns out, the shaving blades
have a chemistry in his current life
so do I, but I would use it on some other day of the year


Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad on May 8th. From Iraq, he came to Canada at the age of 10, the same age when he wrote his very first poem back in the year 2000. He also has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world. And he currently studies Political Science at Concordia University in Montreal. He recently has published two chapbooks “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline” through Alien Buddha Press. They are available for sale on Amazon. Many of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook.

Poetry from Ahmad al-Khatat

Paradise

Before you, I was nothing but a sinner who wanted to be a bird’s feather to rest my journey by the gate of heaven

With you, I am a different man who will be a dove to fly out of the universe all the way inside the world of paradise

What Will Remain

What will remain of me today or the next coming year, will it be worth a bird’s feather

The only grief in my bloodroot is the sad song of nightingales like a wedding with a mother in a picture frame

In this life I could live foolishly and lost in problems with a place in darkness to weep till I die

The tattooist of previous wars asked me about my homeland I told him that I was sold to the land of happiness

With a friend who broke my trust, a woman who died before loving me, And parents who denied my existence

What will remain of me, not an expensive pen, but an unreadable diary of the depths of my soul

The Silent Lake

Sitting in the front of the silent lake, with a wind blowing the tree branches, to hear the voiceless conversation ‘tween the leaves and the flying birds

the lake is shining like my tears in the night reflecting the light of the hanging stars with the moon watching my grieves covering my woman from the heat of my nerves

The wine I drink on my own will never wipe my yearnings from the scent of yours, the smile of yours, and the silky body of yours sliding above my flesh in the times where I was reaching over your lips

Life is wonderful because of you, standing in a white dress, with unbuttoned buttons unzipped zipper in the back, waiting on the sunset to unwrap you for a beautiful memory with no end, but a little sleep next to your long hair

Tears of The Sad Stars

The other day; I wore my Victorian suit and I poured myself a cup of English tea. As I take my first sip, I saw a giant Viking ship, sinking quickly. In seconds everything was calm as if nothing happened but a flying

dragon was eating the cold moon. Meanwhile the cookie monster was eating the cookies of the kids who died in the Viking ship my cup was not filled with tea instead it was filled with tears of the sad stars

Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad on May 8th. From Iraq, he came to Canada at the age of 10, the same age when he wrote his very first poem back in the year 2000. He also has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world. And he currently studies Political Science at Concordia University in Montreal. He recently has published two chapbooks “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline” through Alien Buddha Press. They are available for sale on Amazon. Many of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook. 

Poetry from Ahmad Al-Khatat

Lips of Sweetness

Sweetness of lips talk nothing but kind words

as if you were reading verses from the heaven

when those lips draw near me in bed

I hear the echoes of lovers from the distance of moon

Back to desires, you are the first one

blue-eyed lake in dark, like your eyes all the times

I enjoy the rain because it spreads

your taste upon your skin below the red dress

This universe has moody seasons

people whisper to stand against our shields

close to you and my secrets become the

shadow to protect you all night

For you, I will drink your wine

and break all the bottles of sorrows

For you, I will inhale your scent

and damage all the pack of grieves

Even your perfume has a promise

to seek you with the beats of my heart

hopefully, I will turn myself into a

candle to hear your voiceless wishes

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