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, Roofs of Dreams, The Grey Revolution, and Noemi & Lips of Sweetness. He lives in Montreal, Canada.

The Seaside and Fireside

 the seaside and fireside 
 and a glass of Arak with ice cubes 
 an anthology of poetry 
 I was browsing and sipping.
 My intellect and spirit were 
 imaginative so I began to 
 create horses, proverbs, portraits 
 and civil paintings.
 The artist of my imagination
 was more beautiful than ever
 She was pouring love on the roses 
 and smiling with no tears of fears.
 I wanted the evening to end
 just to observe the sun rise
 while I pray to the seaside and 
 the fireside to remain there longer.  

Counting the Stars

 Counting the stars have not to lead me 
 to an extraordinary dream,
 Perhaps, the stars back in my homeland
 were damaged like my heart.
 Seeing you around is the miracle I admire,
 Your smile destroys what grief has planted 
 in my tears, my arteries, and my gray ageing,
 are you the moon in my black & white freedom?
 In your eyes, there are no fences but more roses
 In your eyes, there are no cages but more lovebirds
 In your eyes, there are no barriers but more immunity 
 Keep smiling and let the world knows that we are tough
 Look forward and stroll through the path of the sunshine
 Do not ever hide from the sun rays when you are the light
 that no nation would be able to offer it to their people, just
 like my motherland who broke the canvas, I once drew before. 

Our Sun

 Our sun rises and we still cannot raise up
 raised in poverty and realized that's a blessing 
 We taught to walk barefoot with a laughter face
 We embraced our heartless enemies constantly 
 We adopted suicide risks, depressions, insomnia 
 to our sensitive spirit who we flooded with our tears 
 The shirtless man and his pregnant wife are 
 sleeping on the mud of the border hoping that 
 they will be able to across the country for a better
 -future to their child, since our culture would do
 nothing but name tags, and mislead the direction
 of the peace that we spent years dreaming about
 Our sun shares its glow with the moon in blues 
 Yet, we sleep in darkness as if the sky is the mirror 
 and we are the shattered stars in the eyes of the warrior.