Raghdan Abu Hassan

Edition II

I Lost My Queen of Hearts - by Raghdan Abu Hassan

I Lost My Queen of Hearts

By Raghdan Abu Hassan

I was never really good at any card game
and I don’t think I ever will be…
but I can’t really make that sorrow claim
cause one set of cards nearly killed me.

I usually play the Joker…
might toss the Ace or the Jack.
But this time we played poker,
a game where you can’t go back.

Instead of money, cash, or wealth
we played with our hearts and nothing else.
It was the way the game was played;
leaving the table cloth, bloody and stained.

My opponent this time, was a lady,
one with elegance and class.
However she refused to play me.
She held her King, I held my stance.

For months and days this game went on
forgetting the day that it began.
For months and days I stood in awe.
She showed me her cards, and I showed her none.

She tried her best
to take but a glimpse.
But as they stood there discreetly,
I was held back ever since.

Like a chain to your neck,
denied your deepest desires.
No need for false hope and fake bets.
This world is already flooded with liars.

I explained to her my restrictions,
time and repetition did not help.
A future with no sense of depiction,
but the cards have already been dealt.

She questioned my devotion
invoking a virus of thoughts
as it spread with the injection.
Time allowed for the blood to clot.

It hurt that I hurt her;
a pain I’ll never forget
and so I needed to desert her;
something I’ll always regret.

I’ll bare my own demons,
those who hold the chain.
Society, religion, and other “reasons”
or so they go by that name.

As I was forced to depart
and leave the poker table
I left a piece of my heart
barely alive, barely stable.

Before I left for good
I asked for her kind name.
She told me they call her The Queen.
The Queen of Hearts… that brought me pain.


Edition VIII

Everyone is Talking About the War - by Raghdan Abu Hassan  (photo by Raghdan Abu Hassan)Photo credit: Raghdan Abu Hassan

Everyone is Talking about the War

By Raghdan Abu Hassan

There are some that control
the world that we know.
There are some that we see
and there are some that we don’t.

They control what is done,
our light is their sun.
They decide who we be
and who we can become.

The only thing yours
is your soul and your will;
nothing can stop you,
no one ever will.

However there is He,
he who can.
Strange as can be,
he could be a man.

A man, not a god;
maybe by definition.
He’s a dying dormant denying our desires and defying our declarations and diplomacies.

He is a man, so strong,
our deaths are similar concerns to our disturbing doubts, deeds, and dystopic dire dependencies.

We lay a mere game in front of his
dark damp dirty deteriorating dispositions.

Do you know his dice?
No, his die
could dispose, delay, set dead
to all our days, danes and deviant daughters.

Only “He” can do things,
that we dare don’t.

Such as kill, compose, curate, and contain.
He can care for our enemies and burn our friends,
butain after butain after butain.


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