|
Sura-Mn-Ra’a*
On Friday morning
In Sura-Mn-Ra’a
A young man lays in pieces
Torn apart by sniper’s fire
A woman
In Black A’baya
Passes by
Holding her toddler by the hand.
The child
Stares at the remains,
At a hand opened to the sky.
He reaches for a touch,
Wondering
Could it be his father’s?
* Sura-Mn-Ra’a: “A delight to the seer”, the old name of the modern city of Samarra (??????), which stands on the east bank of the Tigris, 125 Km north of Baghdad and is famous for its Great Mosque with its unique spiral minaret built in 847. In October 2004, The US occupation forces led an assault on Samarra. Hundreds of people were killed. Bodies were left in the streets and could not be collected for fear of American snipers.
To My Best Friend
I’m glad to hear from you again.
Hope you are alright
Do I remember your brother?
Of course I do
Salam*
We used to play together
On the roof of our house
In Baghdad.
How is he?
Midday
At Kahramana roundabout
Under the glary heat of Baghdad’s sun
A white bearded man
Wearing a white dishdasha
Carrying a heavy water melon
Approaches home
His steps
Slow
His toes cling desperately
To heavy mud coloured
Mo’aad** flip-flops
Midday
At Kahramana roundabout
Under the glary heat of Baghdad’s sun
A three humvee convoy
Moving fast towards
The sheltered zone
Explosion
A white bearded man
Lies on the ground
His eyes gazing at the bleeding heart of Baghdad’s sun
His white dishdasha his chest his legs covered in red
His mud coloured
Mo’aad flip-flops
Immersed
In a pool of thick blood
Do I remember your brother?
Salam!
Of course I do
He used to laugh aloud
On his own silly jokes
How is he now?
Still laughs aloud?
I hope.
* Salam: An Arabic word meaning peace and greetings.
** Mo’aad: recycled – heavy mud coloured sandals. Flip-flops and kitchen utensils were made of recycled plastic during the sanction years.
Freedom Carol
Ah
I’ll say it again:
There are few things
On which we all agree;
Sooner or later
You’ll be free.
Democracy is new for you
But never mind
We will teach you
Marines;
Move forward
Go on
This is what you trained for
You are the hunter
You are the predator
Freedom is beautiful
Do you hear?
Soldiers march,
On native’s bodies
Battling a stench
They chant
Freedom is beautiful
By tanks
By warplanes,
Apache, Kiowa, marine cobra.
Smoke grenades
By Sniper shots
We‘ll end your plight
They deliver.
Wrapped in democracy,
Coloured in freedom,
Packages of
Un-named mutilated naked burned
Blown apart un-counted bodies
We receive
137,000
Men women and children
Mohamed, Ali, Omar, Jawad
Selma, Nadia, Fatima, Suhad
Hussein, Ahmed, Salam, Azad
Aysha, Amal, Maysoon, Nuhad
Faisal, Raad, Zaid, Widad
Nuha, Haifaa, Kifah, Souad
From a distance
Chorus of freedom recite:
Ah
We’ll say it again;
Can’t you understand?
It’s our mission
To put an end
To your plight
Ya* Ali
This is by no means
The whole story
We can see the end
Not the process
The consequences
Not the causes
In Najaf
At Imam Ali’s** shrine
A sad recognition of…
What? I ask.
Ya Ali
A woman mourns
Cuddling her dead son
Looking at the sky
Not the shrine
As if...
What? I ask.
A bomb falls
On a house
Not the shrine
Al hamdullilah
Thank God
Ya Ali
In the haunting miles
Of Wadi Assalam***
Gravediggers
To bury their fear
Conjure the blessings of
The murdered Imam.
F16 strikes
Silence no more
Noble, dispassionate,
Unsentimental
One and a half million Dead
Bound to no one
They murmur
Ya Ali
In the Sahan****
By the shadow of the Imam
A young fighter
Rests
An old book in hand
He reads
“Proclaim the truth”
“Stand by the oppressed not the oppressor”*****.
Apache helicopters fire
Thick black smoke rises
Smell of burnt flesh
Fills the air
Is he someone we know?
I ask.
Yaaa Aliiiiii
I hear no answer.
* Ya: To call and plead.
** Imam Ali: Cousin and son in law of Mohamed, the prophet. In Iraqi popular culture he is invoked for help, especially by women in need. He is buried in Najaf city.
*** Wadi Assalam: Valley of peace, in Najaf, the largest cemetery in the world.
**** Sahan: courtyard of a shrine.
***** Sayings by Imam Ali
Translated by Haifa Zangana.
Nedhal Abbas is an Iraqi poet. She published her first book of poetry, Dreams of Invisible Pleasures, in Arabic, in 1999.
Haifa Zangana was born in Baghdad in 1950, graduated from Baghdad University, School of pharmacy in 1974, and has lived in London since 1976. As a member of the PLO, she was the manager of the pharmaceutical unit, moving between Syria and Lebanon in 1975.
As a painter and writer she participated in the Eighties in various European and American surrealist publications and group exhibitions, with one-woman shows in London and Iceland.
Through the Vast Halls of Memory, her biographical novel was published in English by Hourglass in 1990 and in Arabic in 1995. Three collections of short stories followed: The Ants Nest (1996), Beyond What the Eye Sees (1997), and The Presence of Others (1999). Her novel, Keys to a City, was published in 2000, and was followed in 2001 by Women on a Journey (to be published in English by Texas Un Press, 2006).
In addition to this she is also editor and publisher of “Halabja” – Iraqi and Arab writers and artists homage to the Kurdish town (Arabic & English), is a contributor to European and Arabic publications such as The Guardian, Red pepper, Al Ahram weekly and Al Quds (weekly comment), is a founding member of the International Association of Contemporary Iraqi Studies and a member of the advisory board of the Brussel’s Tribunal on Iraq.
|
