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Albalooshi
Poetry Collection
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Oak Tree
Here in the hinterland...
Shehab Albalooshi
Mere Instruments
We are to be reborn as grist; here we become mere instruments.
Shehab Albalooshi
Just the Same
The face I carved, f
orsaken though, i
t has not changed.
Shehab Albalooshi
Saturated
I find myself dancing in whirlwinds against the machinery of thrall.
Shehab Albalooshi
Ballad of the Pig
In Bochum City, t
he pigs are rarely seen.
Shehab Albalooshi
Incongruent
The only word that intimates.
Shehab Albalooshi
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