Noor Shihadeh

You hurt me
So I can't breathe
So I feel hot
As you take control
...

Winter stop howling at me
Stop beating at my windows
Your cold hands touch my heart
Making it unbearable for me to move
...

‘Twas the lintage, and the trithe thou spoke of,
Was nigh, but did they lingle and fumble in the cothe?
All crimson were the shoots were the shoots of the
Blackle-snatcher plant.
...

All the world's an author,
And all the men and women merely chapters:
They have their beginnings, and their endings;
And a page in its time has many words,
...

On my own, clutching my walking-stick,
Gazing at the huge huddle of screaming children,
Bumping their balloons at me,
Unsteadily holding my walking-stick
...

I've found a strange thing,
Think it must have come from the sky,
For I found out it flying outside in the garden
But I can tell you now that it can't be a fly.
...