In The Garden of Your Heart
Plant me in the garden of your heart
Water me with your emotional tears
Until I blossom in your warm season
Just don't pick the flowers around me.
Let my seeds become your healthy
sustenance, allow me to be the fibres
on the abandoned empty dish of the
holiday, thus I would feed you happily.
Engrave your name on my chest of
the tree, and hold my green branches
Maybe you could educate me how to
dance, before autumn, split us apart.
Write your dreams on the colourful leaves
You live and die once and I live and die more
than onetime, be glad and I will be the tree
to expand my roots to reside with your breathe.
Bleeding Heart Poet ©
Our sun rises and we still can not 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.
Bleeding Heart Poet
Love From The Past Tense
Love from the past tense
is knocking on my door,
throwing stones on my
locked windows for years.
Before, I was a skinny man,
with a moustache building a
miserable silent poet within me,
with eyes that would easily cry for hours.
I wanted and wondered what
if I was a painter and not a broken
heart man, will I drew my character’s
happy with masks I used to hide my grief.
Who would have oved me before, and
wipe the mud off my flesh from the
times I buried myself, below the sun
that burned my own scented dreams.
Today, I am the saddest poem that can’t
be read or written on, the mute feels my
wounds and understand my drinking habits
We together smoke and create smoky verses.
Love still hurt when I miss colourful lips
Love still cuts when my imaginations colour
my grey hair and force the clouds to wear
spring mood to bloom my emotions in autumn.
She got married, and I am swallowing her
pictures to die with her colours inside of my
damage heart, mind, and spirit as I hope that
I will farewell life without thinking about
-love from the past tense.
Bleeding Heart Poet
Ahmad Al-Khatat, was born in Baghdad, Iraq on May 8th. He has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world and has poems translated in several languages. He has published two poetry books “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline” which are available on Amazon. Most of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook.