Important Announcement!

Hello friends, reader and fellow writers!

The ebook version of my book Stranger Paths, The Magic in The Madness is FREE on Amazon today and the next 2 days!

I would love to see it in your library and hear your thoughts about my journey from Iraq to America, from war to hope.

I hope you join the child I was, as she stood watching missiles brighten the darkness of her village, smiling as she hopes for a change. I hope you see the positivity leaking through my pages bit by bit as poems continue on. I wish to share the untold story of my people, of the civilians at war, of the children that had no choice but to accept their fate.

Our days are numbered but our numbers mean that we have survived so much, that we’re all the same.

Fragile

It is much too fragile

That thing that you base your life on

The stepping stone

The foundation to it all

It’s much too fragile

Much too wrong

Starvation

Don’t cry

For the children

Starving

For you are too

Starved

Out of war emerged a Phoenix

Out of boredom of watching T.V.

You learned to look outside

Not knowing who you are

I AM HERE

Cries your ghost

But you change the channel

Then try to find inspiration

At an empty bar

Don’t cry for starving children

Cry for those

Not knowing they are starved

 

 

Sorry| Short Poem

They poisoned the dogs in my street

They said I can no longer give them food to eat

But I’d always eat half my plate

Save it for midnight

When it’s much too late

Then I go running with the wild dogs

They poisoned the dogs in my street

And I still refuse to eat, the food on my plate

.

.

Image Credit HERE

Letter to Baghdad| Short Poem

She swallowed the smoke and the bombs away

She exploded turning to shards that day

Baghdad I’m sorry for the burden you had to carry

Souls exploding and imploding that you bury

They don’t know the beauty that you used to be

The singing and dancing in your streets

The way the ground felt so safe and secure

Baghdad I don’t know you anymore

.

.

Image Credit HERE

Connection

Related image

After the sun has set

And the birds have vanished, to places I can not see

I lay awake

Much too aware of my essence

That thing I try to avoid

That humanity that gives me much pain, and sometimes pleasure

I see it

A fire that does not burn, nor is red

I see my soul trying to connect

But these webs are much too wide

And your humanity prevents you from admitting the need

To be connected, once more

 

 

A Note She Wrote

Take them…those treasures I hide

Leave me with thoughts hidden deep inside

Continue reading “A Note She Wrote”

Don’t

Don’t try to save her

She is singing in her head

Trapping the thoughts you said

Turning them to something beautiful instead

Don’t try to pull her away from the heaven that you call hell

For you don’t know in which hole your beauty fell

My Sands

You might have thought me poor

Digging for hours in the dirt

Trying to find pieces of my childhood

Yeah…they might have thought me poor

Carrying pieces of sand, acting like there are jewels in my hands…

…See they used to be my own

Earth and dirt to which i belonged

I find me poor these days

With toys already made

Play-doh i did not create

A screen play I did not write

This…none of this… is my own

It’s their thoughts that i came to believe

You might see me looking for a diamond ring, for a white car, to cover up how poor I feel

about what we are