Laith Bilal


An undergraduate by dawn and an aspiring poet by dusk, I find divinity in each form of art, constantly catching myself playing a Frank Sinatra record on a loop whilst admiring a Gaudi architectural masterpiece.

I am a writer that derives from Palestinian roots, an old soul yet vivid and full of life, a young, lost man in search for peace and sanity, hopeful of spreading love and amity with words sincerely crafted with sheer frankness and passion.

If you’re interested in reading more of my work, or merely knowing more about me, I am always in reach throughout my social media accounts or email:

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Edition XXXX

البيزكاتو - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Hakim El Haj).jpgالفنان حكيم الحج


بقلم ليث بلال

.هو أسلوب عزفٍ على الآلات الوترية، يُداعبُ بِهِ العازف الأوتار بأناملِهِ المتقرحة


،هي كُل رسالةٍ وكل فكرة

،كُلُ لحظةٍ و ذكرى

كُل حلمٍ نحملهُ على ارواحنا العارية

،فوق وتر الغد الجارح

هو كُلُ وعدٍ نقطعهُ

ليُقطعَنا هو بدوره، رويداً رويداً، حتى نَمَلَ العزف

.و يعتادنا أنين الأنغام

Edition XXXIX

Waltz of the Winter - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Nick Scheerbart).jpgPhoto credit: Nick Scheerbart

Waltz of the Winter

By Laith Bilal

Dying orchids spring

at the feet of blooming darlings

on a shivering sidewalk;

They embrace divine disaster,

their inevitable noble end

with a timeless chassé,

a swirl of joy

leading to a jolly death.

And as the lovers hold one another

in warm stillness


Il virtuoso,

Waltz on.

Edition XX

Messages to an Unrequited Love - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Allef Vinicius)Photo credit: Allef Vinicius

Messages to an Unrequited Love

By Laith Bilal

I hope that he,
who your heart finds comfort with,
is a thoughtful gentleman.
That holds your purse, heels, and whatever may trouble you
while whispering love into your hand.

I hope that he,
who your soul harmonizes with perfectly,
always holds you for a dance.
Even when fate sings with sadness,
even when life plays no music at all.

I hope that he,
hopelessly falls for you
every time your skin bewitches him to.

I hope that he,
will sense your pain
when your crooked smile doesn’t
say the same.

Edition XXI

Our Daisies - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Cole Hutson)Photo credit: Cole Hutson

Our Daisies

By Laith Bilal

These kisses you feed me,
they water my mouth no more.

These dancing shoes you brought me,
They only made my feet sore.

Ungratefully, you swallowed every rose I had to offer,
As each lung of mine had a garden in store.

Soaking our daisies with pouring uncertainty,
Forsaking its pure, lingering scent of amour

Edition XXII

Ruminations - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Hakim El Haj)Photo credit: Hakim El Haj


By Laith Bilal

Every timeless time,
an everlasting and charming forever.

A pianist’s fingertips,
each touch of yours: a souvenir to treasure.

Vocals of an angel,
each word you cast is a heartfelt love letter.

Every wondrous moment with you dear
leaves me nostalgic for the other.

Maybe if my eyes were shut tighter,
maybe if I held onto you better,

my troubled heart would feel put,
thus never compelled to question whether

it was true love I felt for your drenching rain
or merely the fear to wither.

Edition XXIV

Somewhere - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Hakim El Haj)Photo credit: Hakim El Haj


By Laith Bilal

Somewhere between us

Between an eclipse and a moon coy to shine

Between your bittersweet lips and mine

Between a hello, a goodbye

A laugh, a cry

A hurtful truth, a heartfelt lie

A thrill to live, a will to die

A heartbeat, an eye-to-eye

I have lost myself,

Somewhere between you and I.

Edition XXVII

We Were Young - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Yara a.k.a. Peroculus)Photo credit: Peroculus

We Were Young

By Laith Bilal

We were young-
smoking roses,
bleeding cigarettes.

We were young-
dreaming, hopeless,
playing mute cassettes.

We were young-
perhaps too young
to ever understand
that life is one alluring lady
with every kind of demand.

We were young-
perhaps too young
to ever understand
that this stage we staunchly stood upon,
trembling, was a bit too grand.

We were young-
and shall always be,
until the sky seems bland.

Edition XXVIII

Reveries of a Ballerina - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Alannah Bowes)Photo credit: Alannah Bowes

Reveries of a Ballerina

By Laith Bilal

On the coldest of nights
The ballerina would dance, || barefoot,
with not a sway of harmony,
holding her patched heart in petite hands,
as she tailors dreams with pure ecstasy.

Beholding the blue horizon,
above the clouds,
eyes that sparkle restlessly,
humming the world into peace, perhaps.
A fine, celestial melody –

On the coldest of nights,
the fair little lady
would dance and dance!
Pirouetting among shattered hopes,
fragments of crimson reveries.

Still she frolics with wounded feet!
Full of glass;
Triumphant cries!
Unorthodox lullabies!

Composing the world into peace, perhaps.
A fine, || yet unheard melody.


riley-mccullough-168345-unsplashPhoto credit: Riley Mccullough


By Laith Bilal

Your eyes sparkle with dying dreams

Face structure of an unfinished masterpiece

You’re the voice of the weak

Sweet blasphemy

Words I never dared to speak

A bewildering cold poem recited with love

As rivers of passion flow down your cheek.

You are beauty within scars

A sensation

A daydream

A bedazzling, breathtaking constellation of stars.

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