Read poetry from Batool

This is how I cook my grief
I pick fresh hearts from the street

The most defeated ones

With nimble fingers, I steal the tears

I fill rusted sardine tins with the smell of sorrow.

Mothers’ glances cling tightly to their eyes

But I snatch them swiftly, because I resemble their children.

In a copper pot,

I boil what I stole

And add blood that hasn't absorbed

And sawdust from a coffin that was meant as the door to his new home

I pour the mixture into my heart

Until it blackens

This is how I cook my grief.

هكذا أطهو حزني

أقطف من الشارع قلوباً طازجةً

أختار أكثرها خيبةً

بيدٍ خفيفةٍ أسرق الدموع من أصحابها

أعبئ رائحة الحزن في علب سردين صدئة.

نظرات الأمهات تلتصق بأعينهن بشدة

فأخطفها برشاقةٍ لأني أشبه أطفالهن.

في قدرٍ نحاسيٍ 

أغلي كل مسروقاتي 

أضيف إليها دماً لم تشربه الأرض بعد

ونشارةَ تابوتٍ كان يفترض أن يكون باباً لبيته الجديد.

أسكبُ الخليطَ في قلبي 

فيصبح أسوداً

هكذا أطهو حزني الشخصي.

The land of weary crows
Take me to the sky on your kite
And let me fly far away from this life
Show me how death is just a matter of time.

Take me to the sky
Where pain is a joke
And healing is a joy
Where eyes are luminous with threads of sunlight.
Don’t leave me here drowning in this lake of tears
Jumbled with blood from your veins
Don’t leave me here

If there is no way to fly on the kite
Then teach me how to sail swiftly
Before being shredded by monsters’ mines
If your paddles are broken
I’ll use my arms
But they’ll be devoured
Before I even try
Can you teach me how to float?
So the monsters gobble my soul
Then the shackles of sorrow will flee from my home

I’ll close my eyes slowly
My dim aches will immigrate with the flock of miserable crows
My blood will be kneaded with beloveds’ mourning and wails
And amputated limbs.
There I’ll be rooted
On a vast cloud of mercy
Earth beneath me
Kites surround me.

The white doves will land on the earth
Bleeding my pains
They will pluck their feathers
Spread them on the window frames
Plant them between lovers’ fingers
So they write their love
Before remorse
When their darlings arise to the sky
And leave them on this land,
The land of weary crows.

Judgement Day
Mountains of concrete are
swallowed by the earth
red seas are exploding from
people's bellies
and covering the land
the sun disappears
the blue sky has turned grey
Sijjil stones from every direction
panic grows legs and runs
my mother leaves her house
and runs
my aunt leaves her daughter
and runs
I leave my father and run
without saying goodbye
The earth is cracking raising
the dead swallowing the living
I hear their last screams before
their mouths are filled with dirt
I hear their last hope
I inhale their fear.
I keep running.
I'm a sponge lying
on the Red Sea floor
saltwater seeps from
the pores of my body
from my nose from my eyes
one question escapes my mouth:
Gabriel hasn't blown
his trumpet yet
How did the resurrection happen?