Wednesday, April 28, 2010

coule pluie, coule sur nos fronts

Much rain suddenly on our foreheads,
on our fields, our homes,
a deluge here, the storm this season,
what is the reason?

Is it to drown all our perjury?
Or wash our wounds?
Is it for harvest, the most fertile soils?
Is it to destroy?

Under the bridge of Martyrs, Dijla was tearless in her melancholia. Dijla left her erased book of history open under that old table lamp and went to sleep. At sleep she couldn’t dream, or maybe she forgot her dreams, since she got pseudo-dementia. Furat offered her a cup of tea at Basrah and she felt better but every time she passes by Baghdad she cannot but to search for her stolen tears.
Dijla, who had breastfed us, and still doing, is neglected, with her erased book of history.

What for is this rain?
Is it a message?
Is it a cry from heaven?
I'm cold my country, I'm cold,
Have you lost your sun rays?

What for is this rain?
Does it have any benefit?
Is it to punish us?
I'm cold my country, I am cold,
Should we celebrate or curse this rain?

Today the weather was strange again. The color of the sky was so grey. Suddenly it started raining.

I looked in the book who knows
believed in his verses
I read: "seek the answers to your question, look for the hyphen"
A beggar on my way,
- What are you doing in the street?
- My son and my husband went one morning,… no one had come back...

What for is this rain?
this water? clouds that astonish us?

She said the rain you see,
these are tears to the eyes of men,
it gives you the tears,
For too long they have dried,

Men do not forget the weapons when they know not to cry,

Flow you rain, flow over our heads ...

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