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Faleeha Hassan May 2016
A Babylonian once told me:
When my name bores me,
I throw it in the river
And return renewed!
* * * * *
Basra existed
Even before al-Sayyab* viewed its streets
Bathed in poetry
As verdant as
A poet’s heart when her
Prince pauses trustfully to sing
While sublime maidens dance--
Brown like mud in the orchards
Soft like mud in the orchards
Scented with henna like mud in the orchards—
And a poem punctuates each of their pirouettes as
They walk straight to the river.
I’ve discovered no place in the city broader than Five Mile.
He declared:
I used to visit there night and day,
When sun and moon were locked in intimate embrace.
Then they quarreled.
The Gulf’s water was sweet,
Each ship would unload its cargo,
And crew members enjoyed a bite of an apple
And some honey.
The women were radiant;
So men’s necks swiveled each time ladies’ shadows
Moved beneath the palms’ fronds.
These women needed no adornment;
Translated by William Hutchins
……………………………………………………………..
Basra, also written Basrah  is the capital of Basra Governorate, located on the Shatt al-Arab river in southern Iraq between Kuwait and Iran. It had an estimated population of 1.5 million of 2012.
Basra is also Iraq's main port, although it does not have deep water access, which is handled at the port of Umm Qasr.
The city is part of the historic location of Sumer, the home of Sinbad the Sailor, and a proposed location of the Garden of Eden. It played an important role in early Islamic history and was built in 636 AD or 14 AH. It is Iraq's second largest and most populous city after Baghdad.
Basra is consistently one of the hottest cities on the planet, with summer temperatures regularly exceeding 50 °C (122 °F)
Badr Shakir al Sayyab (December 24, 1926 – 1964) was an Iraqi and Arab poet. Born in Jekor, a town south of Basra in Iraq, he was the eldest child of a date grower and shepherd.
He graduated from the Higher teachers training college of Baghdad in 1948
Badr Shakir was dismissed from his teaching post for being a member of the Iraqi Communist Party.
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab was one of the greatest poets in Arabic literature, whose experiments helped to change the course of modern Arabic
poetry. At the end of the 1940s he launched, with Nazik al-Mala'ika,and shortly followed by ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Bayātī and Shathel Taqa, the free verse movement and gave it credibility with the many fine poems he published in the fifties.
These included the famous "Rain Song," which was instrumental in drawing attention to the use of myth in poetry. He revolutionized all the elements of the poem and wrote highly involved political and social poetry, along with many personal poems.
Trump is more justice than Mohamad
Trump took money from Arab nations
Because they had money they don't deserve

He hated Muslims and released his shout
Islam is responsible for any killing occurred
Mosques is the cells for terrorist

Mohamad is the prophet of Islam
Mohamad old nation hated the new religion Islam
As it equalized between the slaves and Masters

It equalized between black and colors people
When one of Mohamad' friends swore another one
The first was white one

Another was black one
He swore with the son of the black
Mohamad got angry and talked

He told that one to apologize
The man turned and put his cheek
Under the another foot and swore

He would not get up until he put his foot over his cheek
They got up, hung and cried
Mohamad invited to new religion

His nation hated him
They put a plot
They had gathered and waited
Mohamad was known as the faith and the honest
His enemies of his nations put the valuable things to Mohamad
They put a plot to **** him

They planned and they decided
There is another power who planned
God told him and cared

In spite of taking the valuable things as requital and revenge
He ordered his cousin to sleep at his bed
As a sort of deceive and to have time to get
Out

They were forty of most trained knights
Carrying strong swords
God put sleep over them

Mohamad crossed between them

They invited all Arabs to **** them
When Badr battle occurred
His enemies were strong

They were also a lot
One their leaders said
We will go as a trip

Sing, dance, eat meat
Then defeat Mohamad
If Arab nations heard that

They fear of us
The winds blew against the desire
They were defeated

After the battle finished
Mohamad had kind heart
Who had money payed for his freedom to be happened

Who had not
He learnt ten of Muslim how to read and write
At this battle one of his friends

Had his sword been pieced
He went to the prophet
Telling him that he had any sword

Mohamad had no sword except his sword
He took a branch of tree lied
He gave it with his bless

The man took without wonder or amaze
He shocked the branch at air in strong
The branch became a strong sword

He still used it
Till his dead
all nations must live ad believe in respect not at killing and terrorist
Surkhab Aug 7
The melody is yours now
I had begun to live for myself
I had begun to love myself
Until that moment
That one melody that hit right every time
A melody for the lonely nights
The nights I danced to it in those empty streets
As every lyric echoed from the radio
It filled the void inside those nights
It filled the void inside me
A melody for those heavy days
The days I roamed in those empty corridors
As every lyric echoed in this body
It took that burden off from those days
It took that burden off from this soul

But how could I dance the nights away ?
But how could I pass the days away ?
This universe created you as well
With a purpose of destruction
It’s funny how you will never know this purpose of yours
I put away this heart
I became a soldier
This soul became my nation
As I stood there alert
Protecting this fragile nation from your destruction
Memorandums were sent day and night in the kingdom
To warn it against you
Eyes were prohibited to the direction of your shadow
Feet were prohibited to the direction of your voice
Because your essence was enough to destroy this phoenix kingdom to ashes
And it happened
The guards were down
And the melody echoed through this body
The soul mocked me
That the melody now will carry the one you fond
May be I was not mocked
The soul sensed your presence
Which I couldn’t
The eyes were in your direction
It was not your shadow
But the destruction happened
As those eyes locked with mine
I could hear the kingdom burning
And I am not a brave soldier
As I did nothing to save my nation
I stood there burning in that fire
You turned me from a poet to a martyr
The melody which was once mine
Is yours now
You burned my kingdom
You took my melody
Do you even know how cruel you are ?
You do nothing
As I see you walk away
May be back to her again
With whom you share your kingdom
There must be no guards at your place
How could you ruin my thing then?
But you will never know
So how can I blame you ?
May be there is a connection
May be you will read these verses one day
Or it could be one night
Or they will become another tale in that diary
In the attic of that witch.


To Badr
I took note of your scathing criticism.
It’s the best joke of the century.
Hell, even of the millennium!

  “You should’ve learned how to change.”

Change? CHANGE?!

I changed so hard I broke the mirror
And swallowed the shards for breakfast!
  (The taste is particularly exquisite)
  (Taste? Heck, you can call it a rebranding!)
  (With a side of narcissism and a pinch of performance — natural for an artist!)
    (Believe me — it digests easier)
    (And leaves less of an aftertaste)

I became:
  Gene Kingstone,
  Ásgeir Geirmundsson,
  Frodo Clayhanger,
  Rakin Badr Shamoon,
  Ouya Ishikawa,
  René Bérubé,
  Sargent Fresne,
  Fabien Giroux.

Eight names, a thousand apologies.
Eight lives, and not a single one wasted.

Look at the barrel you set aflame!
And I’m the neologism you feared to create.
A poem about identity.

— The End —