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

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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.