Wednesday, July 14, 2004

From a poem by Iraqi poet Mudhaffar An-Nawwab (my translation):
If you feed the pidgeons
of the world from your heart,
you are a terrorist
You are bullets..you are bullets
Or if you fill your pockets with candy,
they get transformed, oh `Abdullah,
into bullets
Or if you sing to your wife
the song of night
the tune becomes transformed
into the whistle of the magazine
at night
And you cough smoke, oh `Abdullah,
And you sleep with her comfort,
love and salvation
If you tour the globe
writing poems of love
on the visa...plane ticket..
the gate of airports of cold
the carriages of cold
Your face since you were born,
you are called `Abdullah the terrorist
And your daughters are
`Abdullah the Arab terrorist
and your voice is `Abdullah the terrorist
and your death..
Some people are fatal sins,
oh `Abdullah, and
some people are punishment
you are punishment
Sadness comes with wind
and in the water from faucets
and the noise of streets
the soldiers of tanks are
urinating over the face
of my homeland
My face is on the ground,
and so is your face
Shut up, and don't breathe..
Don't go out..
Don't watch
It is forbidden that you
yell in your stomach
Oh, `Abdullah, please yell
Yell, Oh `Abdullah
Spit out at people's questions
their clothes..their wristwatches
their cold compulsory silence
Kill them with your presence...
your insistence..your love
Oh, your love, oh `Abdullah,
is mute and sad