Poetry from Ahmad Al-Khatat

You No Longer Have Hands 

To destroy the journals I had kept for years 
I feel ashamed to read my sorrows with a 
language other than my mother tongue.

Beautiful silky skin and blue watery eyes are 
the reasons why my disappointments are restless.
In my shadow, I see myself free from the coffin
Yet, everyone dies when I pretend to be asleep.

 I jailed my poems, my tales, and tears in my heart.
The prisoner asks if I'm ready to close my eyes
I give him my watch “Take the time and slaughter me”.
You'll peel my skin and sip my blood in less than a year.

You no longer have hands to bury my dream yacht
O Baghdad, why am I in the blues when I feel like a 
dead soldier in exile, or a stranger in Montreal corners 
Lots of bare hands with blood splitting on my sad face. 


Bleeding Heart Poet