from “Balabul”
This is all a mother is, sometimes:
a hand on the cold side of a window,
heat going nowhere,
and staying anyway.
the bulbul sings. something is always listening.
Ahmed Aamer
Poetry
To call something by its singing, and refuse to accept the silence.
bulbul (n.) — a small Persian songbird, associated in classical poetry with unrequited love; said to sing ceaselessly for the rose, knowing it will never be answered.
The Collection
From the Songbird:
Bulbul
A collection about the cost of staying. These poems move through hunger and displacement, obsession and devotion — through cities and seasons, through grief that competes with itself, through love that persists past the point of reason. They ask what it means to keep singing when nothing answers.
Find it on Amazon
In progress
The Second Collection
A new sequence is taking shape. The same bird, a different song.
Selected Poems
from “Almost Rude”
The facts stay simple:
you are gone,
I continue.
I ate the last orange
standing at the sink.
It was too sweet,
almost rude.
from “The Pink Cathedral”
Inside the whale, it’s all muscle & dark.
The walls contract. I think: this is love,
isn’t it? Being swallowed whole,
giving yourself to the animal hunger,
the pink cathedral of its throat.
About
Ahmed Aamer
Ahmed Aamer is a poet whose work moves between love and loss, memory and the present moment — the intimate and the inherited.
His work is restrained, image-led, and emotionally precise — poetry that trusts the reader to feel what it refuses to say directly.
Contact & Submissions
For readings, publications, or correspondence about the work — I'd be glad to hear from you.
hello@fromthesongbird.com