Ahmad Al-Khatat. He 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 first poem back in the year 2000. He also has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world. His poems were translated into Farsi, Albanian, German, and Chinese. And he currently studies Political Sciences, at Concordia University in Montreal. He recently have published his two chapbooks “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline”. With Alien Buddha Press. It is available for sale on Amazon. Most of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook. Daughter of DeathDaughter of death she inhaled darkness and exhaled the light of universe she wears the colour of fall and the skies become cloudy With rain drops of forgiving water she doesn't cry as much as I do but she gets weak by the graveyard As she reads children names her birthday is my depression day grief weeps from reading about my joys While joy cries from watching me in sorrow she loves watching broken trees with branches all over my bleeding arms her favourite meal is the homeless dinner her heart beats with the gravedigger’s work standing next to him, shamelessly drunk from collecting all parents during the war she laughs from watching their kids I asked her to be fair and feed the orphans she feeds them with Eve’s poison apple to die Giant BrainYou know that I miss you but I truly believe that your spirit has been by my yearning in which, when I cry my tears will come from my sad heart and not from my giant brain Half of a Yellow SunToday, half of a yellow sun arises due to the civil war that forces the kids to use the kite with sharp knives to cut the other half to feed themselves one thousand days of pure darkness knowing what to kill and forgetting what to eat by the bloody wall of my neighbour whom I try to save his soul but he died firstly nothing belongs to me anymore in here young teenagers walk with the lifetime crowns meanwhile, I run after my shadow just to survive another day far from the death direction I learn a new language to smile longer I work with a less pay since I have no dreams yet, I see my days are wearing my grieves just so I feel my aches in every autumn season My Lonesome Self Into the water of the blue river I see my details without a shadow my face has a look of a dry leaf with my back straight as the mountain happiness is the missing puzzle to express how wonderful my life is lonely stars hanging with the moon like myself lonesome around strangers Living in another city, not my own with the future somewhere in my coffin seeking for attention of the zombies to eat my bones, to gladly drink my blood Let me go without saying anything since nobody understands my misery when I travel back to the old days when I thought I would be happy and not crying I am alone by the whiskey and the pack of cigarettes and together creates invisible friends, who will enjoy watching me reading my last words before I die alone The Rainbow who Saved my LifeThe last rainbow that appeared, recognized me from my eyes he told me that I survived the war and that he saved my life he said that back in my homeland he can’t be seen when he appears, instead he helps the angels to paint by Marking the children with my colours he painted red on the ones that died he painted orange on the hungry ones he painted yellow on the ill ones he painted green on the orphaned ones he painted blue on the heavily wounded ones he painted indigo on the ones with last breath and lastly, he painted me with violet to live between all of my old friends Who died, and I did not The Scent of Death All writers smoke cigarettes and so I smoke cheap cigars All poets drink wine and cheese and so I drink vodka with nuts All dreamers talk about romance and so I talk about love in an erotic way All workers take a break from work and so I do not take a break from life All students share ideas to help me and so I share my knowledge voicelessly All ordinary people sleep well and warm but I do not sleep well because death take me until the unknown day my flesh will release the scent of death from the four walls of my room Five Stages of Death O world, take the cup from me I already feel the damages of The last sips down my throat Exploring the five stages of Death Denial Isolation Anger Anxiety and depression Museum of Corpses Inside museum of corpses there are dead refugees bodies who died ’cause they were not characters, but priceless, experiments That helped humankind, with plastic surgery, they test dangers And feature The weapons Of flesh and blood, crash test dummies, design body armour against the aliens from the spaceship and women, private body parts were all set to put on sale, since all the hairstylists and cosmetics had been working hard to keep their belief in Death. It does not have to be boring inside the mind of Lively souls 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 grieves, 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
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