I am dead before the flames touch my skin,
Your fire shall consume you, ere I rise again.
When you gather my ashes and lay me to rest,
The grave shall bloom forth, and the earth shall attest:
“O God, how have you buried the poem’s quest?”
Hatem Al-Shehri, a renowned poet and literary figure of Saudi Arabia, shares his poems
Hatem Al-Shehri is a distinguished Saudi author, poet, and literary figure with a prolific career spanning over 16 years in the publishing industry. His literary works, which include 17 books, have been translated into multiple languages such as English, French, Spanish, Kurdish, Swedish, Italian, and Bosnian, earning him a broad international readership. Al-Shehri’s contributions to Arabic literature, along with his innovative approach to poetry and prose, have made him a significant voice in contemporary Saudi literature. Al-Shehri holds the distinction of being Saudi Arabia’s first literary agent, a role that has allowed him to shape the literary landscape in his home country. He is also a licensed television presenter, having amassed over 1,500 hours of airtime, and has served as a jury member for the prestigious Riyadh International Book Fair Prize. His academic engagements include his role as a member of the Advisory Committee for the English Literature Department at Princess Noura University, highlighting his influence in both literary and academic circles. Throughout his career, Al-Shehri has represented Saudi and Gulf literature on international platforms. Notably, he became the first Saudi to present a scientific paper at the Bridges of Babylon Festival in Milan in 2023, where he discussed the role of translation in the development of civilizations. Additionally, he was the first Gulf representative at the Hispano-Arab Writers’ Congress held in Spain, underscoring his commitment to fostering cross-cultural literary exchanges. Al-Shehri’s poetry is characterized by themes of melancholy, existential reflection, and a quest for meaning amidst despair. His latest poetry collection, “I Clearly Recognize the Face of Despair”, has been widely acclaimed and translated into several languages. In 2024, Al-Shehri was awarded the prestigious Ibn Arabi International Prize for Arabic Literature for his work Where Does All This Death Come From? Further cementing his legacy as a leading figure in modern Arabic literature.
Burn Me
Gather the sticks around me, set me alight,
I hail from a lineage of rogues, a jester’s plight,
My grandfather, a trickster, yet not one-eyed,
The crux of the matter: burn me, I’ve cried.
He who dies by fire claims the victor’s crown;
So please, bury me deep beneath the ground.
What path leads to the guillotine’s cruel embrace?
My neck bears the weight of my sins in this place.
If you lack for kindling, behold my kin,
A legion of wood, let the flames begin!
I stand guilty, and the fire is my right;
Come forth, brave men, ignite the night!
I am dead before the flames touch my skin,
Your fire shall consume you, ere I rise again.
When you gather my ashes and lay me to rest,
The grave shall bloom forth, and the earth shall attest:
“O God, how have you buried the poem’s quest?”
***
A Salute to My Feet
A salute to thee, for all the paths I’ve trod,
Yet never have I reached the place I sought,
While others praise my intellect, so grand,
I give my thanks to my patient feet, so strong and taut.
Though they knew the outcome long before the start,
Not once did they betray my weary heart.
I walked on soil, to spare the grass from wake,
While others danced in fields, I ground the stone to flake.
The gentle breezes blew, while I spat blood in pain,
When I arrived, without a shirt or pant,
They lounged on canvas chairs, their laughter loud and vain,
While I beheld my shame, my feet the only chant.
They stared at my nakedness, yet I looked down with pride,
A Salute to My Feet.
***
The Taste of Apple
I crave an embrace,
A clasp, a noose,
Anything that wraps around my neck,
My love, tenfold,
Barbed wire,
Yet it matters not.
When I gifted her sneakers,
She bid me farewell to run with her love.
She gave me a bag filled with earth,
To place at the threshold of my life,
To feast upon whenever love’s hunger strikes!
I devoured the bag,
Her cherished pet,
While I was the wild wolf.
When I grieve, I turn to a pin,
And when he mourns, he becomes a frog,
Like an hourglass stuffed with pins.
When she chose the photo album,
I chose to be a scalpel,
She sold the memories,
And I embraced the knife’s edge.
He who buys the prickly pear,
Does not seek the taste of apple.
***
The Prophet of Dreams
When troubles abound, I peer out the window to see,
Has God sent a prophet to set things right, can it be?
But no one is there, not a soul to be found,
Perhaps he has sent a female prophet, but none can be found around.
I gaze at myself in the mirror, it seems I’m the chosen one,
The time has come, my turn to be a prophet has begun.
My followers await, eager for my command,
I open the closet; a prophet’s robe I demand.
But there is none, only a nightgown I see,
I put it on and sleep, my followers in dreams will be.
There, I am their prophet, their guide and their light,
In the realm of dreams, where all is made right.
________________
