AHMAD AL-KHATAT - POEMS

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.

​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

The Drunk Poem

I am the drunk poem without rhymes
the bartender asks how I am still surviving
I tell him that I never listen to my heart
but I hear to the voice of my loneliness
I talk less about my miserable life
but when I am drunk, I colour the darkness
and ignore the clouds of my journey
I lie to death when I ask for another chance
The musician plays with a passion
the singer sings with a fine pleasure
the poet writes with crying eyes, and with
a spirit dancing between the lines of the drunk poem
Love will be always arising in my head
if a woman comes to my soundless attention
I will be happy for a temporary moment
I will fly her to my fantasies above the island of peace

​

I’d Rather Be Alone
​

I’d rather be alone
then talking to double
-face people I meet
those people will stab-
me until I die on my tears
I’d rather be alone
take my gadgets away
give me a low-cost coffin
I am not physically tired
but mostly emotionally tired
I’d rather be alone
I can’t fly from my sadness
my heart is broken from the
-cage of Baghdad sorrows
the door is open and I’m drunk
I’d rather be alone
waiting to autumn to farewell
-more dreams under the dust
I cried more than a wounded
warrior who will slaughter me



​

Growing Up
​

Growing up
we learn more
about the mistakes
we had made before
the only difference
you tend to smile more
than I do, with your wounds
above my sensitive open cuts
you walk into the sunlight
and I run by the blowing leaves
It's crazy how much love does
I miss you even if we just kissed
Growing up in your eyes
It's a dream that can be found
anywhere near your breathe
let the people behind me and
-enlighten me on my imaginations
to draw a path that will be the best
map to own you, far from everything
dark, cloudy, or that cause you to cry

​