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..

There Is No Beauty

There is no beauty in the summer breeze I have been yearning, when it carries with it mustard gas and a love letter from Armageddon, in yearning for me.

Insipid Beasts Buried in the Snow

On top of Mount Kilimanjaro or buried deep in the snow...

On top of Mount Kilimanjaro or buried deep in the snow, we marched as cacophonies and blank silhouettes.

Only Words Remain

Only words remain, perched above, all alone in the aftermath.

My Murk Stolen by the Morn

Confessions whispered through peppered dreams

To Live with Pride

Look at this mighty force weeping Before our eyes!

Look at this might force
Weeping before our eyes.

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