ali habash

The heart has filled with wastelands
And empty bottles, and homeland
gets farther from me everyday.
...

The cigarette
it shoots bullets into my life
Every day
But I pine for it
...

Rockets fill my heart and head
Time is running by
All your friends are being blamed
for this, Oh Iraq.
...

They used to translate the war
for a newspaper;
My fingers
Filled with the dead.
...

We multiply by a bomb
Then we bear another.

We drag our children into passport documents.
...

Missiles at the bottom of the heart,
Shrapnel in my head
And the days -
A walking guillotine -
...

Red lips:

I don’t know her.
But after the third glass
...