#foreigners
If the world is an
outside world, then you must be --
a prisoner, right?
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 2:37 AM UTC
Lean, the hands rough skin
A hoarse greeting with holes
between my sand gnashing teeth:
a scary person
I am everywhere because nowhere
I'm allowed to be, give me shoes:
as long as I walk I live
Call me Job, I don't
believe God will save me
from the underworld
where it's warm in winter
till midnight
when the doors close. Whether I hope
to wake up from the cold
I don't know, maybe
I'll do what you do and push
it into the future
Then it doesn't exist
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 3:37 AM UTC
I do hear you, but
there is a boundary
Why should I let you in
with your urgent desires?
First, show me
what you're worth and maybe
I'll give you a passport
And even then
first there is the waiting room
It is my life you know!
I won't be spun in
by the sticky silk
of your feelings
and it certainly wouldn't help you
to start nagging or tickling
You can't enforce love
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 2:24 AM UTC
Strangers are safer,
to them I can openly --
tell all my worries.
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:11 AM UTC
A stranger falls, and
as he falls he is breaking --
in into my life.
Aug 7, 2023
Aug 7, 2023 at 4:04 AM UTC
It is empty on the Grand Square
The guide tells about the past
His words blow over
Birds above the roofs, white clouds
it takes a long time
until we go for a drink
In the café we cross over
in each other's language
to the streets where we live
and everything is the same
in a different way
We sing along to the songs
of our teenage years and toast
the world that is becoming ours
I stall for time, don't want to let go
of the guide, I'd like take him with me
and show him around my own city
let him see with my eyes
after seeing what he saw
not knowing what he was thinking
May 13, 2023
May 13, 2023 at 3:42 AM UTC
Look at the hippo,
then you'll cease to be amazed --
at human beings.
Jan 10, 2023
Jan 10, 2023 at 6:35 AM UTC
Mourning for Tibet,
gathered in the palace square --
somewhere far from home.
Feb 18, 2022
Feb 18, 2022 at 3:18 AM UTC
It's only a game,
therefore there are no losers --
only new chances.
Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 4:03 AM UTC
I walk through the village
The sun shines, the wind blows
a little through my hair
The shutters are closed
with chinks thin as needles
with long narrow eyes
My shadow doesn't fall inside
anywhere, there are none
in the dim rooms
where the light drearily
obscures what is going on
and what the consequences are
of everyone's comings and goings
The peeping people press me
as compelling devils
out of their eyes
out of the chinks in their lives
The sun upon me is insufferable
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 3:35 AM UTC
To welcome vagrants
is difficult, you're afraid –
they'll smear the carpet.
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 4:41 AM UTC
I am bored, but the view
of the city at night
is beautiful, still
too hot to sleep or count
the skyscrapers, the stacks
of illuminated windows
My hand waves goodnight
Would anyone be looking at me?
I squint my eyes
to peeping telescopes
then I cast them down again
to read a little, insights
I already had, but can not rhyme
right now, with the world
that keeps me awake
If only I could sleep, dream
of light towers in the desert
without being there myself
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
It was a narrow and dim place
his hand and arm brushed
skin over my skin
familiar and pleasant
as my love's:
how foreign is a foreigner
in an unguarded moment?
How many people could I
be intimate with if...
What differences turn people
into enemies, if it's not a problem
to be loved
by someone you don't know –
as if your eyes were closed
to prejudices, obstacles
and complicated circumstances
that don't stop anyone
who is young and in love
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 2:07 AM UTC
High above the horses' corral, the sun
Cutting in the deserted streets
Shutters closed
No fighters and no smugglers
no silver diggers, no luck
Only angry eyes that have seen her
Men go around with clubs
they comb out all the houses
That angel has to leave
I pull her inside, next to my pounding heart
she kisses me until it is over, the dog is alert
and licks her hand, mama is working
dad drinks all day
We wait for the night
I will go with her
away from here, this is not my home
it is a grave, a hollow stone
on which my name never will be written
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 3:29 AM UTC
You can, just do it
out of fear: welcome strangers –
into your own home.
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 5:46 AM UTC
It is a fact, not a favour, to be born
outside a ghetto, wasteland or slum town:
no one should reprove me
for not having cultivated the field myself
not having paved the roads and eating fruit
from trees that I have not planted
It is a fact, no a fault, to be born
inside a ghetto, wasteland or slum town:
no one should reprove me
for having come here
on roads that I haven't paved
to work in other people's fields
and to eat the fruit
of trees that I have not planted
Aug 8, 2020
Aug 8, 2020 at 8:27 AM UTC
We swarm across the border
where the threshold was a wall
the guards are large-sighted
the farmers plow on
We push our way out of the cold
through the roses on the right, the lilies on the left
red and white the leaves
swirling behind us
We are many
more tomorrow
thunder rolls through the clouds
the children become restless
the parents get them home
on the way, they still glow
with freedom, at home
they close the doors
with infected hands
there is not enough soap
and not enough stock
to keep us at bay
We escape time and time again
nail open new houses
dive inside
and unleash a flood
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 3:07 AM UTC
A stranger passed by,
we had to watch him: he went –
where we dare not go.
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 3:50 AM UTC
Your blue blood veins,
red, white, blue stains,
mind closed just like your borders.
Despite the wars,
the foreign and poor,
are given their marching orders.
Diversity,
you just don't see,
is what makes the world so great.
'The futures white, see',
'In good old Blighty',
you bleat as you close the gates.
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 5:30 AM UTC
A friend asked if my mother had a brogue.
She was forty when she landed here,
She probably did. She must have.
What does a child hear?
I was accustomed to it.
I only heard her voice.
Others no doubt did. Liked the lilt.
I heard the voice,
Not the accent.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 9:50 PM UTC
We were like aliens
From parallel worlds
And used to communicate
More through kisses than words.
Made of our hobbies
Fetish of each other.
Nobody could stops us
Not even sisters
Or brothers.
We used to do
Odd customs and professions
And shared the same
Gray melancholic
Music taste.
Oh!
Those eyes had exquisite precious
Like a flying green bird in a cage.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 2:12 AM UTC
We were on a road trip , on our way to meet the cousins of my father for the first time. I couldnt help but be curious about how they looked like. What they were like. Year by year I'd discover more family members that I never knew about.
"Mom, they lived in Basrah?"
"Yes , they had."
"Huh..Basrah" I said sarcastically.
"Are they good people?" I asked.
"Yes they are, why wouldnt they be?" She said with a confused look in her eyes.
"When was the last time you saw them?" I asked, not ignoring her question quite much.
"Years ago." I was still confused because she did not number the years.
"How come I didnt meet them when i went to basrah with dad 2 years ago ?" I asked.
"Last time I had seen them myself was before we came to this country." She said.
"8 years." As I realized.
"I dont think so mom. People of iraq changed. A lot. From my latest visit." And perhaps the last visit it would be, I thought.
"Trust me on this dear." "Their father is as elegant and as royal as the head of ministry. He used to manage the biggest hotel in Iraq before he had retired." She said.
Suddenly the old images of iraq flashed in my head, and along came the current image of iraq, The comparison in my head between how great iraq used to be, how rich and beautiful the land Basrah was and how it is all gone. No admiration left, it's all an intricate matter.
The stories I hear about Iraq and the wars and the people of iraq, are close to infinity if you saw the destruction that occurred. The beautiful past, is all we have.
Sometimes, I feel like home doesnt even exist.
"Iraq". Those four letters , it's like thy dont mean anything to me anymore.
A home is a place that holds you, that keeps you warm. When did iraq ever hold me? Other than holding me backwards not forward. Other than leaving the poor cold and the rich hungry too. Where did all the blessings go? Where are the beautiful green lands? The River Tigris and Euphrates ? Helicobacter ?
It's hard to IMAGINE a country with such power, such good , such greatness , such grandeur, magnificence, fall. But it's even harder, to WATCH it fall , and having nothing in your hands to do about it.
Such blessings, that got destroyed , on the hands of those who envied it once. The enemies destroyed the only thing that I had to believe was home.
"You know mom.. Sometimes I hate Iraq."
"Why?"
"Because it ruined our lives."
Silence filled the car for a couple of moments before anyone spoke. It was true, Iraq did destroy us along. Iraq ruined our lives and everywhere we went our identiy was exposed but not lived by others. We once had a wealthy country, now the country is dying and the people are shattered. Mother knew it was true, even more than me, because i was just a child who couldnt remember and didnt live half the events mom had to go through. She witnessed it all.
"No one can hate their country dear, it is still your country."
It was true too, wherever I shall go, I will make my country proud, and not just a maybe, one day,Iraq will rise again, and I will have enough faith in my country that it will.
My country is not destroyed, my country lives peacefully in my heart. The people may ruin it, but it will always be as great as it used to be in my eyes.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC