Have you heard about Sumac? Yes, it is purple, but it is stinging because the beautiful southern nights kissed its lips. The fish love Sumac because the Euphrates carried it on its back for many years. Sumac is so Iraqi so its spirit is kneaded with war stories. Did you know that Sumac and despite its sadness, it indulges in the fragrance of celebration, just like our streets.It is the son of the desert and like our daughters; the daughters of the desert always dream of days without smoke. We inherited Sumac from our Babylonian ancestors who made it with smoky tears, so you need an Iraqi smile to see the splendor of its glory.

I was told that Paris is a beautiful city and has a colorful spirit, so from childhood I dreamed of slapping my brown face with its white clay but I am a wild leaf knows nothing about beauty or artists and all I know are dry fields. Here, in my broken box, nothing but a pale shadow with a faint spirit walking between woods with a hidden face; I mean a very hidden one. When dawn opens its eyes, I hear our birds sing in a faint voice, and when the evening closes its eyes, I see our moon without love, so how can I walk in the bright streets of Paris?

Believe me, I can feel the splendor of life, yes I can, and deeply feel the smile of my lover. I have family and children, and like you, I love coffee and eat eggs and cheese for breakfast. I am a farmer from the south and all I carry in my pockets is orange. I love poetry very much, and I love drawing a rose, a palm tree and a bee. I am a Muslim man, I love peace and am not a terrorist as you think.

The leaves of the trees are green, but we cannot hate the purple, it is also beautiful, symbolizes warm life and holds hope for the future. We are mere navigators but we cannot assemble all the violence to release a rose; the red rose does not need blood. Just look at the lovers; they have a colorful bouquet that teaches us that the colors are wonderful. The colors of flowers and lovers' bouquets tell us that multiple colors are not barriers. You can take a look at the multiplicity of bird sounds; it tells us that our word is wide. Look at our various words, our various choices and our various tastes, it's different as our skin colors; they teach us the beautiful mosaic of our existence. All I can say is that: our skin colors are not barriers; they are beautiful flowers.

I am an Eastern man and as a human being I have a feeling so I love the sun and as you I have beautiful dreams, but I am not from the West so you do not want my friendship and do not show me your love. Yes, I am very Eastern, and my father is from this land and has a headband, and my grandfather has a thick woolen cloak but this is not an excuse for you to prevent me to visit New York or walk on Brooklyn. We are farmers and know the gaze of the birds and understand the words of water and the moon has a lovely tales in our memories and we can also make coffee and tea and for this I do not see any reason for you to sit there on that hill and close your windows in waiting for the rain to make me leave from the street in front of your house. In fact, I do not see that I am a very primitive creature as you think and the veil worn by my mother is like the green leaves embracing a white rose in the morning which blooming easily in the evening in her loving garden. My friend, I know that I am a farmer from the east; my heart is full of love and light, but some eyes are wearing black glasses.

The sun has a thick veil and many girls with stiff hearts. I saw many of them walking in our streets, but the strange thing is that they are colorless and very cold. Imagine that the sun girl has no color and no warmth. Everything under our sun is cold even our summer, even my love for you. The evenings which travel through amber are simply eternal cold losers, I mean eternal heroes who build his free glory over my back. Please do not ask me about the wheat spikes and the braids of the young girls because in addition to their cold faces, the wind has brought them to an unknown place.

My friend is very polite and always tries to drink clean water, but unfortunately, we are in the same cold darkness. It is an early death, Oh the unfortunate humanity. Place, uh place, how lonely you are?  looking for the remnants of a human being. Why should this happen? I am a man of the 21st century and my days soaked in mud as an old cow. I don't like the cold sound, but my days are damp like a woman's coat and my heart hangs on absent trees. My friend, you may see sunrise cheers, but the real face of all these fantasies, is the cold darkness. So, don't try, you won't find clean water here.