Hadi Atallah

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my paragraph

Sailing through the Arabian Sea with a tad little patience and deep passion for writing. My mollusc mystique and my quill raging. My pen is my compass. Be welcome!

recent posts

  • We are but a Breath

    How’s it going? He told the child.

    I’m going to work, the child replied.

    The child spoke

    Almost appearing

    In a counter melody

    Do ever steady the boat

    Looking speculatively

    Drifting in or complete reality

    …We catch a breath and moan a little.

  • D’être Follement Aimée

    I moaned and sat up suddenly

    Her eyes wide and her

    Nostrils flaring for a blood test

    Sweat formed on her upper lip

    Where I could see

    It would be the same deep cleft

    A consideration to massacre

    Where streams collected at the tip

    Lay over this desert country

    Ahead the stone mountains

    Looking cool and welcoming

    Blood red on her lips and tongue

    She turned to look at me

    Her back relaxed and mine stiffened

    She raised her face to meet my own

    Her chin braced on a blissful sun

    …And she saw the glint of my one.

    Her foot moved a few inches. Her toes touched the rock.

  • There it Started

    High under a frowning peak, a little spring of thistles sprung out of the rupture of stone. They were fed by the wind, and now and then they thrived completely just like poetry. 

    Poetry is like gasping a little at the size and beauty of life. And when I went out to hold its hand, I pursed my lips and seemed to think. Everyone knew why the poetry had come. Life tries to give aid if it could and poetry if it could not, and a fireplace either way.

    Buried are thistles. 

    Here you may have them.

    They capture the light.

    And so it begins…

    We could feel the changes

    Waiting for us to go out at night

    For a long moment

    We look out in the darkness

    We seize a stone

    And we rush outside

    And as we move

    The light comes back

    In her eyes

    That glow so fiercely

    So carefully Love

    Does her work

    The lightest sounds

    Like flames

    …Moving about the fireplace stone

  • Drawing The Shell of Hardness Away

    At last, I handed my worries back to God.
    And I placed my faith, love, and hope deep within me.
    Faith, always the foundation of prosperity.
    Hope, standing still, watching, ready to help when it could,
    Or to comfort when it could not.
    And Love, strong enough to conquer the incurable: even hate.
    For all hatred is, at its root, self-hate.

    Still, I remained suspicious.
    I couldn’t take my eyes off the work in front of me.
    “What do I fear?”
    I asked myself.
    And after searching long,
    I answered honestly:
    “Us, together.”

    Even so, the work,
    And the simple rhythm of running errands,
    Softened me,
    Peeling away the hard shell
    I thought would never break.

  • Do Not Worry

    Truth works very quickly,
    Swiftly peeling back vanity and undoing pride.
    Surly and at first, it feels like nothing,
    But my eyes, once cold, and my voice, once hard,
    Now tremble.

    Truth is a madness.
    It threatened to undo me.
    I tried to hurl it back,
    To cast it into the sea.
    But my lips trembled with fear, not defiance.

    Still, Truth had its one chance.
    I tried to leave,
    To break the pot that held me in.

    Then came the whisper,
    Soft and near:
    “Hush. Don’t move.
    Be still. Don’t worry.”