Iraq Poem by ali habash

Missiles at the bottom of the heart,
Shrapnel in my head
And the days -
A walking guillotine -
Every friend is guilty of you, my Iraq.

These are our dreams:
Wires that seep into the streets.
People between checkpoints
Break and disappear.

I sneaked into the chaos of the country
I saw a family climbing a stretcher
And a child was dragging a tank with his tears.

I saw a coffin awaiting the Euphrates;
A life without a pavement
But tons of debris and metal gathered –

Are all those weapons for me,
For my children and our old house?

Foreigners too close to my shirt
And enemies between my fingers.
Foreigners over the newspaper
And enemies multiply in missiles
Awaiting their money.

Oh poem, why is this verse so salty?
My homeland, why is the oil so black?

Soldiers with colourful eyes
Too close to the statue of Al Rusafi
Like dresses
Squeezing the day -

The roar of their helicopters
Hurts the palm trees
And their grub
Stampedes over my memories in the Maidan Square

Are all those weapons for me,
For my children and our old house?


Baghdad 2004