by Dhia abada
While the occupation exists and
strangers are having fun
You see wheat fields... mines,
and the morning light...
fire in the eyes.
When freedoms are confiscated
according to the law of war...
No white flowers... rise
No joy in the eyes of a child
cuddled in a warm bosom.
Across the borders and
thousands of miles
comes a bastard rocket
which never knows any... orbit.
Is there after our virgin laugh
a day that shines?
and dreams in our blood... are suicide.
Iraq... first, sorry... the oil
and then the curtain rises.
Has starving people
and occupation become
a badge of honor and pride
or an emblem of glory and victory...
Death lives everywhere
A child here... a child there
A pencil here... a pencil there
A mine here... a mine there.
OH Baghdad,
after this dark night has gone
a morning will flow in hope
an occupation has an end time.
Who said
oil is more precious than blood?
English translation by Dhia abada; edited by Charles S. Cooper
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Copyright © 2010 - Dhia abada
Published: 8/5/10 · Author's Page · Next Poem