Poetry

August 16, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Lee Friedlander

 

By

Ahmad Al-khatat

 

 

When Men Fall in Love

 

 

Isn’t it sad, when men fall in love,
They start ignoring who they are,
Flipping over the clouds of future.

 

While some haven’t seen love near,
They are still healing world wounds,
And their past still destroys present.

 

In my city, couples walk and talk happy.
Like two love birds flying far as joyfully,
They lose it, when they walk separately.

 

While in Baghdad women weep by doors,
Sing sad songs like a dove fly with blood,
And smile if she finds her man grave tomb.

 

I may be alive in front of your beautiful eyes,
Smiling so Baghdad wounds won’t appear,
Canadian appreciates my fight against terrorism.

 

I ask and I seek for a true love for many times,
Apparently I aged to the autumn tree in spring,
Where women kept on judging as I am blinded.

 

Angels have asked me to be patient and calm,
When teenagers start becoming worthless actors,
And mothers and daughters are twins for sales.

 

Even some have more tattoos than a serial killer,
And men are becoming the dolls of Barbie men,
Sharing their desires with anyone and not worry.

 

Sadly the best women, and the most unique ones.
They are dating the trouble of alcohol and all drugs,
While their men kept on creating more horrible sins.

 

Life is beautiful and amazing,
Life is young and very short,
Life is now miserable and terrifying.

 

Whenever I ignore a young age homeless on the sidewalk,
I feel I just refuse to open the cage of freedom to an orphan.
Like when I see a little girl, asking her father with less income.

 

To buy an expensive cake, it recalls me of the girl who wanted
Nothing but her father for the day of the holiday season and
It happens that he died, and her gift from him it’s crying alone.

 

When men fall in love, that is fine and great to see new faces.
But don’t accept the scent of spring break into your own life,
Perhaps death has a room, in your life and in your own house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Am Not a Poet

 

 

I am not a poet and I admit it that I lied about it,
I have been written of my forgotten soul memories.

 

Selfishness have been taking over my passions,
When I was burning my hopes and all dreams down.

 

I am not a poet, nor a writer who loves to read.
But I have always wanted to be friends with chapters.

 

Depression changes my life from sunny to clouds.
Whenever, I dance around the graveyard on a rainy day.

 

I am not a poet, the crying kid still weeps whenever
He hears the nightingale singing to my painful miseries.

 

People walk next to my heart and run away quickly.
Before I die and be the tree who dies twice in one year.

 

I am not a poet, isolated from friends, and unloved.
Although if I am drunk I feel she’s playing hide and seek.

 

I lost my childhood when my grandpa died within a
Santa clause suit, on the next day to Christmas Eve.

 

I am not a poet, I have made a necklace with beads of
Names of all the people I love so I recall their kindness.

 

As time goes by those people walk to the sinful street,
They steal and they pray asking God for more forgiveness.

 

I am not a poet, I am rejected from honest and faithful
Love, and I was forced to swallow the cheating and betrayal.

 

Like if I was born to suffer until I die on your happiest
Day, and fly with broken wings to hell just for being humbled.

 

I am not a poet, twenty eight years old seems sixty.
Young face and old heart that will stop at any time sooner.

 

I could feel everything inside of my flesh, but can’t
Touch my open wounds but managed to survive very harmfully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ahmad Al-khatat

I was born in Baghdad on May 8th (1989). From Iraq, I came to Canada at the age of 10, the same age when I wrote my very first poem back in the year 2000. I currently study Political Sciences, and move on to study Journalism at the Concordia University in Montreal.

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