Ahmad Al-Khatat is an Iraqi Canadian published poet and writer. In addition to his Pushcart Price 2020 nomination, 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, Canada, now with his spouse. 

We Are Numb 

We are numb when the world began,  
numb from forcefully drinking ourselves. 


Numb from exited voices growing louder, 
numb from marijuana smoke and sweat aroma. 


Numb to climb bare on our day-to-day fears, 
numb to hang a thick cord on the rooftops. 


Numb to the world’s craziness’s dry tears, 
numb to gossip and destroying human lives. 


You are numb all around me, in my short hair, 
 in my hands, amidst the dust of my little toes. 

My Loneliness  

When I learned how to love my loneliness,  
I discovered that the pub is calm tonight.  
I was drunk, unable to pretend to be sober.  
I hear crying syllables from a far distance. 

Thirty-four years old and haven't chosen  
whether I should heal myself from being foolish.  
Those sinners are softly, calmly, immensely  
tapping on the elevator buttons to make love. 

I unexpectedly feel thirty, yearning to kiss  
scented lips, like the first woman who undressed  
my sorrows with her tears and said that she didn't have  
plenty of time to fall in love before we turned abandoned. 

I went away from her direction, just to erase memories  
of touch, hearing, and seeing her in my dreams.  
My loneliness swallows my laughter's face, helping me  
to escape from the silent part of my new world. 

The Last Falling Leaf  

Just another winter’s morning  
People with broken heart turn into graves 
Children wear the uniform of the orphanage, 
Widows are not awakened from a long sleep. 

Privileged people don't seem to care or even be fair.  
Their true voices remain silent until they die. 
Yet, I feel disappointed watching the birds in flight. 
I wonder if I can rest beside the lifeless bodies. 

What's the brand to heal a damaged brain? 
Like autumn's last falling leaf, almost four o'clock, 
No laughter to share, only miserable memories of  
a missing woman, that used to be my happiness.  

They say you can love and hate more than once  
I’d rather be back to her eyes, lips, and her heart. 
This world has crushed me mentally with no mercy. 
Seeing her again its a dream of a poet to compose.