So Neat in Out-of-Date Cursive

It's too easy to forget who you are.
No different than pretending
someone didn't call you
the wrong name, while the grocery list
you wrote so neat in out of date cursive
is folded in your pocket,
like a note telling when you'll die,
and you're only scared to read it,
because it proves your memory 
isn't what is used to be,
leaving you
to swear as you remember
the empty salt shaker waiting for you
to get home and complain 
how you had nothing to say
on the birthday card you signed
for a co-worker.


Stamps Used to Cost Fifty Cents

His books are falling down
in price, while the shipping costs
soar like an eagle with its eyes
focused on something we can't see,
and here I am, grounded
next to another poem-
its wings broken or growing,
depending who you ask,
but I'm incapable of flight,
knowing the sky intimately
only in my dreams, where my fall
part of waking up.


Finding Ourselves

Too often we're looking for ourselves,
even though we were never lost,
and the treasure map just an old napkin
we forgot for years in a pocket
of our best clothes, while we never bought
those shovels because we couldn't afford
those plans for self-improvement 
through gardening, leaving the dirt 
to wait just a little longer for us.

EXTREMITIES


Incorporeal extremities unknown,

Like that of the earth,

Its surface and abyss,

Where lies the gates?


Celestial guardians unknown;

Titans covered in gems?

Or, maybe…just maybe,

A bellerophon of fossil univalve shells?!

That's scary!


Leviathan exits unknown,

covered in dreadful mist,

What domicile lies behind the exit?

Is it peace or…tumult?

Is it of…,


Back to the known,

Actuality dawns after frenzy,

Too much to be known, but for 

sanity, best left unknown,

Deep mysteries only known to One,


For sanity,

Shut your mind!


Orbo ab chao! 

                                                 ©the_L

Unwelcomed Farewell 

Ahmad Al-Khatat

When you articulate nothing at all
My heart becomes an occupied city 
With the noise from the rockets, not birds 
The clouds drop blood on my fictional planet.

The blue skies open its chest to those fireworks 
I look at those happy faces, lovers kissing lips,
and pretty dresses. I am sorry darling for loving you 
-without the ability to cover up my lousy tears.

Do not shatter the windows of daylight’s nostalgic 
Open the door of unwelcomed farewell before they bomb us
Hit me with an axe before the death scrapes me 
Wear a dress to reunite with my defeated spirit.

I am still awake, and I want more colours of happiness 
I want new syllables to run over my refugee's tongue
I also desire some pulse to hear with my ears and eyes
-closed at my imagination cuddling with you all night long.



Untouched Fleshes
 
How long will I love you woman
Your scent will wear your breath
With eyes like the sun, I am nervous
about my unfinished, and undreamed joy.

My enemy washes my blood of his hands
Looks into me! burns my past and presence
We breathe heavily as unpleasant summer rain
She screams, apologizes, and tears like a paper boat.

Those silent moments have not spelled a word,
His empowering face still seems like a deadly river 
I search deep in his eyes for untouched bodies 
She stares at the sky for several hours, asking 

-for a cigarette. I wonder what she would do if 
I stop her from smoking and kiss her truthful lips
Will he hear us and sends his tainted fingerprints-
on my abandoned skin then I question my freedom.

She holds my hands and doesn't let me go away, 
She says that her family owns an apology for me, 
My watery eyes stop from aiming at the blank sky, 
I love you woman, but I miss those untouched fleshes.




The Price of Humanism 

Who is going to make the best offer for the price of humanism?
Who is going to buy humanity in one click!
Who is going to auction our rights and principles?

Money buys happiness for some people
Greediness and selfishness are invading their black hearts
Kindness sips liquors with a freedom of speech

While the real speech is waiting on his death role
It’s ridiculous how hard to cleanse our hearts and souls

Most of the goddess cottages are with wrongdoing prophets 
who fight the believers who spell God with their accents?
I'm sorry my child, humanity judged you before you are born 

Who will wipe your tears? like the way your mom and I did 
Recall that you are free and don't belong to any privileged class.
Lift your head to the sunshine and be proud of your values. 



Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally. He has poems translated into several languages such as Farsi, Chinses, Spanish, Albanian, Romanian. He has published some poetry chapbooks, and a collection of short stories. He has been nominated for Best of the Net 2019 and was also nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2020.

To Declare

I need a chariot with a pair of wings
which won’t be mistaken for nuclear fins,
a name, 
an address,
which will impress
the police and customs at Heathrow’s check-ins.

I declare an independent mind
but lacerated with grief, 
a worn-out body
seeking relief,
some hard-won savings
but not in sterling
which would take me as far as Grasmere  
or Stirling.
 
To Cross or To Cross

You stroll on lawns matted with flowers.
We tiptoe our way with half-closed eyes.
What acrobatic feats could elude timed fire,
waiting to burst from maiming mines!

To cross or to cross, 
no not to bar us
from the traps of death 
that lurk underground.
Some say a prayer. 
Some curse the hour
that decrees the fate of blighted men.

And Diana reprobating such techno-power
that instantaneously severs legs and limbs
could not defuse the flames and horrors
which would erupt from lunatics’ toys.
 
News Headlines

Another peace accord
has brought discord.
Clamors for war
reverberate through the globe.

Human rights issues 
as frail as tissue: 
oceans will seethe 
with refugees. 

Religious error 
is yoked to terror. 
Commercial wedlock 
inducing deadlock.

Straggling economies  
conceiving poverty. 
Desertification 
with certification. 

Ambassadors of mettle 
unable to settle 
where their presence can heal
political disease. 

[Dedicated to Dr. Janet Gardiner, former Ambassador to Syria]
 
Nereid

She roams the water in search of her beloved 
whom Polyphemus had banished, incensed by lust
that covets frailty in a blooming sea-flower,
whose lack of deference would make her sob. 

Timorous fish swim through her tresses,
inhaling the brine of entangled weeds, 
sorrowfully making many random conjectures
at possible causes for lachrymal trails. 

A translucent string of hyacinthine bubbles, 
profusely flowing from saddened eyes, 
foreboding havoc and vindictiveness, 
inscribing in water defiant love. 
 
An Onomatopoeic Stance

A patter.
Is it feet that chatter
over things that matter?

A splutter.
Is it drops that gutter
from eyes that sputter?

A clatter.
Is it hooves that shatter
the former and the latter?
 
Reticence

The rose that froze at the tip of your tongue
had chosen to repose frost-bitten and numb,
deflecting a flight into the unseen,
inducing an untimely winter scene.

Its pollen lay deep writhing in sobs,
longing for a birth, for dreamt-of buds.
Each curling petal had gone to sleep
suppressing the scent I yearned to keep.