Poetry: Ahmad Al-khatat

Box of Shards

I am not drunk, nor sober.

I am not drunk, only tired.

Am I the only grown man

who wasted his tears

crying over the beauty

of unspeakable dreams,

unspoken fantasies,

and a polished floor

to catch my last breath?

I was born with torn wings,

meant to fly to heaven.

Now I must be in shards,

shards and shards,

to fit inside a box

not a grave,

not a coffin.

***

A Sip of a Fermented Hope

I wish my mental health were a language

that the world could understand and respect.

I investigate the clouds and the lake up north,

I feel I somehow belong between them.

On the other side of the world, I see myself

in the sobbing misplaced children from countries

like my own, where we question our humanity

as if we are the only ones alive while others live joyfully.

My parents were always against my way

of drinking liquor until I end up drunk and aggressive.

Who cares about me anymore? I only hold a sip

of a fermented hope, where I dance and sing alone.

If she ever comes back, tell her he’s not interested

to walk with her or to give her what she wishes.

My depression has conquered me. Congratulations, sorrows

I am now the man banned from falling in love again.

I cannot say I did not miss staring at women near me.

I cannot say I did not feel some healing in my wounds.

I cannot say I did not enjoy speaking to a woman like you.

I wish to know that I am truly yours but if not,

let me fall asleep with a bullet…

***

The Voyage of Oblivion

I have a few tears left to sob over you.

Forgetting about loving you is the hardest

poem that I have ever written. I carry

your heart with me because I still love you.

Whatever they say about you, you are

the moon whom I adore, talking with my soul,

jumping from one glowing star to another.

I wonder if I am silent or deserve to die drunken.

Your absence has undoubtedly folded my sight.

The sun will always sing to you and to all the trees.

Meanwhile I compose sad songs to the nightingale

only because I am lost in the voyage of oblivion.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows:

I could only say, O beautiful world, where is she?

When I sense your bare footsteps strolling,

chains free, smoke free, with a smile on your face.

But please don’t be shy, afraid, or even late.

I might have taken my dull life away voluntarily,

yet I waited for you in tears and cried for long seasons.

I missed your sweet lips and the way they kissed my lonesome grief.

***

Bio: Ahmad Al-Khatat is an Iraqi Canadian published poet and writer. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in Price 2020 & 2024 nominations, he received a nomination for Best of the Net 2019. His poetry has been translated into other languages and his work has been published in print and online magazines abroad. He resides in Montreal.

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Setu, October 2025