Shehab Albalooshi

My work serves as a personal cartography of exile and resistance, written to navigate the 'shattered glass' of a displaced identity. In the spirit of the Beat Generation, I seek to transform a private 'howl of madness' into a rigorous philosophical inquiry against the machinery of thrall. By weaving historical and theological threads together, I strive to move beyond individual suffering toward a shared, universal resilience found in the eternal march of man..

Ballad of the Pig

In Bochum City, The pigs are rarely seen.

In Bochum City,The pigs are rarely seen.You only hear their sordid oinkingOnce or twice during the week. The pigs were told by their mastersThat we are all demonic entities.So at night, you’ll feel the spectre of violenceQuietly patrolling through the streets.

Incongruent

The only word that intimates.

The only word I could intimate.

Left to Die

As tyrants held us from behind, In trenches, deep, one must survive.

In trenches deep, one must survive

Like a Waterfall

Our love, sacred, holy vow to awe

Our love, sacred, holy vows of awe

I Leave My Heart with You

My soul still yearns for life ahead. My faith in man does persevere.

Engulfed in rot and slow decay,
My will endures; my soul endears.

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