Saturday, March 21, 2020

Ahmad Al-Khatat writes


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

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