3 Self-translations by Mariam Al-Khatib

By | 11 May 2026
When I Meet Death


When I meet death,
I will have made my bed,
washed the dew off the window,
and left crumbs for the birds
that never return.
I still learn from light
how to deceive absence,
how to point at the ceiling
as if it were the sky,
how spirits applaud
a shadow passing
without falling.
Every stone here
holds a memory.
Every shadow
drags a tiny funeral behind it.
Depending on where you turn,
a step may be survival—
or it was,
a second ago
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