poetry and war...iraq

When words fall short of reaching conviction, weapons make it even worse.... 

Many times I get entangled inside contradicting opinions about the very life left here , in Iraq, to live...was war the only solution available in the reach of politicians that couldn't be avoided by any means?
going through websites and reading veteran's opinions and poetry about Iraq I honestly feel that the American soldiers didn't have the time of their lives neither; being dumped here with stupid arms and vehicles, and worse; with a plan of NO PLAN!
both sides are human beings ;they simply can't keep distant to their inner conscious, words start flowing from tears and emotions upon paper, on sand, in the air...and by voices; mostly remain unheard.  
people unlike decision makers need truth and they DO care... they need other people's opinions,so we need to hear from both sides, what both endured at  that terrible era...how they both managed?, how they got along with consequences...It is poetry and other forms of writing (of no personal interest or  aim) that can uncover the inner war... reaching peace in mind and soul . (Amal I brahim)

Voices from Iraq: Iraqi Poets

Of Freedom

By Mahmud Al-Braikan (translated by Haider Al-Kabi) 


You have invited me to explore

another continent with you,

but you wouldn’t share the map.

I would rather sail

In my simple boat

And if we chance to meet,

That will be a meeting to remember.

You have offered me a house,

Decorated and comfortable,

In exchange for a song

That sticks to the instructions.

I would rather stay

On my horse’s back

And roam

From wind to wind.

You have brought me another face,

Fresh and flawless, ideal in size.

Thank you, but

I don’t feel like having a glass eye

Or a plastic mouth.

I don’t want to wipe out differences.

I don’t care for perfect symmetry.

Thank you, but

My distance is something I’d prefer to save.

Is the slave master not, at heart, a slave?

The Prey

By Adil Abdullah (translated by Soheil Najm)

Like a flock of eagles on their wounded prey

The furies have descended on Iraq

In spite of all their hatred for each other.

Each night they return to their lairs

Under the wing of darkness,

Oblivious to the blood

That smears their mouths.

But shame will seize their souls

When they discover, in the morning light

The prey they feasted on last night

Was the flesh of their own children. 

A poet dies twice: once when he is published, and once when a statue is erected after him. Mahmoud Albraikan