Hadi Atallah

Tell me of Truth and its untamed nature

The sage then says:

Warm blood runs from my forehead.

And there is love in her voice.

It whispers through the mangroves.

And her beauty lies winking.

Never to disappear.

Always to be heard of.

…There is excitement in her hunt.

The hero stood before his land, filling his lungs, and history raged and flamed in the back of his eyes, and poetry too, for the hundreds of years of his people’s subjugation were cut deep in him. Now he was trapped as his people were always trapped and would be until he revealed to his people that the things in the books were really in the books. And the music of the davul throbbed in his head and nearly drove out the enemy’s songs.

…No one does less than his best.

On the following day

I go to work

Without my briefcase

With a flat white

Tablet, which

Fear told me

To place on

My tongue

…I think that should do it.

Your worst enemy when 

I’m with you is the peach 

between your oiled up legs. 

A string of filthy words 

and maybe a painful thing 

that might make this whole 

thing difficult to go on.

And if there is hope, 

as just possibly there might, 

become conscious of our 

own strength and air for Love. 

It is needed to rise up and 

shake up ourselves from 

this constant augmented reality.

…They were people transfigured.

The endless searches after profound 

knowledge comes at last the big gate. 

The singing of birds and splashing 

water and the sweeping Love whispering 

to you, “bury me alive.” It is then that 

you know the darkest of lights is by your side.

…It told her things she knew already.