Poetry from Ahmad Al-Khatat

Why Am I Sad?

Does that mean I’m lucky? If so,
Then why I don’t remember the dust on my joy?
Has my confidence disappeared with the cigarette ashes?

People age by love poems and happy-ending stories. 
Meanwhile, I age by the number of lonesome years.
My brother tried & failed to teach me how to stop crying. 

The very first moment I turned 18 eighteen years old, 
My grandpa came into my dream and said 
“ I’m no longer in trouble to express my mental illness.”

Thirty-four years and yet I shamefully liquoring up and smoke.
Colourless wounds, foggy nightmares and rusty sorrows in me.
Why am I sad? When everything is great but not remarkable.
Soul & Hope

I am riding in the subway again.
Breathless & sweaty melancholy visage,
as if autumn wear my soul & hope.
Her springy perfume permeate in me.

She whispers to the blooms flowers
while I am in sorrow to her dead roses.
I ask her to touch me gently, to kiss me softly.
Will she recall my heart how to bury the past?

I am wild with love, with a lifetime desire.
I am not an widow chair waiting for her dead soilder.
Stand side by side, I need to dream & not fall apart.
 Hand in hand, I’m thirsty to explore you in darkness.