GRAVEYARD

On the roof of our house
In Baghdad, 
We found a graveyard 
Inhabited by my father
And mother, my brothers
And sisters and me.
They gave up their places
And left;
         My father with a crutch
                      To fend off his mistakes,
         My mother weeping
                      For her dead sons.
And I, foolishness with a stick,
         Tears shed over the dead,
A settled bachelorhood,
         And a debunked prophecy.
 
 
 

ESCAPE

My uncle Salman,
when his sons changed
          his profession
from peasant to labourer,
was struck with arthritis.
He became silent.
One night they heard him weep
          like a widow in his bed.
In the morning he had disappeared!

  *
They looked for him
          in the alleys of al-Thawra¹,
in its houses, and streets . . . 
and found nothing.

  *
After a few days,
a visitor came from al-Amara²
who told them about an old man
found weeping one night, like
a widow, struck with arthritis
in a boat stuck in the mud
of the drained marsh.
 

1  al-Thawra is a district in Baghdad
2  al-Amara is a town in southern Iraq 
 
 
 

SHOES

The obedient twins.
They drag the body's carriage
wherever it wants.
Satisfied with their lot:
obeying the master,
and the dust of the road.
 
 

MOST PEOPLE ARE POETS

The man said:
in God's name,
players,
have mercy on the ball.
Listen to it moan!

*
The woman said:
our neighbour's speech
stumbles with sincerity

*
The child said:
when the birds die
the angels bury them in the sky.

*
The mother said:
There is a hole in my heart
that will only heal
when I hug my distant boy.

*
The photographer said:
Inside my black box
I store the earth
and those upon it.
 
 

From Akhtam Hijriyya - Mamalik li Ghadin Hayran, Dar Mahktutat, Holland, 2002.   Republished here from Banipal No 18.

Translated by Sargon Boulus