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Grief Market (Part 1 and 2)

Who suggested you to go early in the morning,
To walk by yourself with no one to the grief market.

It was my decision, and I had to take the port of
Memories of the poets whom stepped in before I did.

The sailor took us on the river of tears, that was
Made by lovers weeping about being separated for ever.

My tears were dropping and burning my cheeks,
Just because I smelled my beloved Baghdad scents.

The policeman wondered why the name of Iraq
Was written in red color, I answered him it's my blood.

Since no one believed that I am Iraqi and my writing
Was based from my diary of grief, of living in Montreal.

I finally got to the grief market, where my heart
My wounded soul of watching sad and terrifying images.

I drain the water, that recalled me of the same
Boiling water that my grandpa used to drunk with his wine.

The tailor we don't have your size of a suit of joys,
Instead, we have a suit of sorrows, that appear you martyr.

The chef in restaurant offered me some free meals,
I refused to eat and said that I'm fasting until the grief market,

Change into the joys market, where I can buy my
Grave without the attention of my friends whom would miss me
Again ... Again.


Unfortunately, the digger told me that
The graveyard is full of tombs of young soldiers.

The sadness and disappointment made
Me speechless, I heard their sounds low moaning.

A homeless man was selling bit of ashes,
They were his family ashes, that's how he survived.

Angels had a store, they were giving away,
Of their joys to mankind, and wings to dead victims.

While devils was happily exchanging dates,
Of people day of death, and taking their joys as taxes.

The butcher man was only capable of hunting
Butterflies, he wanted to taste bit of their soft freedom.

I asked the floweriest of why their red roses still
Bleeding, He said they are missing the touch of women.

An old uneducated man, asked me to stop his tears,
They were dropping endlessly after he lost his kids in a war.

I looked at his wife, she asked me if she can hug me,
I said sure, she hugged and said I smell hopes out of you son.

All of doves and birds were flying on the skies of Iraq,
With one wings only because they have lost of roughness fighters.

A doctor with last nurse were giving free operations,
To the people who became heartless, that killed their own dreams.

One policeman gave me an invitation card to the
Wedding of a prisoner for death due he laughed on my dark funeral

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Submitted on June 04, 2015

2:19 min read

Ahmad Al_khatat Claim this poet

I started writing poems since I was ten years old, Most of my poems are free verse or proses.Which talked about sad dark and wild romance .Even some ones talking politics.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prose_poetryhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Free_verse ahmad4all_2@hotmail.comMontreal - Canada Thank you more…

All Ahmad Al_khatat poems | Ahmad Al_khatat Books

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