War - by Gouled Ismail
Blood-curdling screams,
annihilated dreams
Disillusioned souls in search of purpose,
amidst grim realities that impose their presence,
perpetuated by the blatantly-callous
Rivulets of red soak a blood-thirsty Earth,
scorched black by the weapons of death
The putrid stench of rotting righteousness,
overwhelmed by the toxic fumes of hatred,
is obscured by the swirling smoke of the incinerated truth
Greed displaces reason,
clouding clarity of vision
Soldiers squint in the dark,
They're awake but unconscious,
aware yet remarkably oblivious
Not shedding a single tear,
yet dwelling in utter fear,
unable to visualize the bigger picture
Human fates unfold,
unveiling tragic tales untold
In the wake of a bitter game of dominion and survival,
desperate hearts seek revival
The Letter
Madam, have you heard…
That I talk about humanity.
Talk about the soul.
Do you know my Madam?
Do you know why I have approached you, specifically, and not all Americans?
Do you know Madam that in our belief the Heavens lie under the feet of Mothers?
Do you feel what we feel as Arabs?
We love others just as you do, we feel pain just as you do, we dream just as you do, and we have our small things.
Among us are those that are passionate, and among us are the old… the young that cry just like your young that scream.
Among us are mothers, whose hearts are full of love and care,
And are happy and sad like all people.
They cry at times of hardship… until the tears over flow.
They remember just like you remember and forget just like you do.
Every now and then, the people in my country die for nothing.
We die because we are innocent and we are Iraqi.
The prisons are filled with us and we are tortured because we are Iraqi. Only because we are Iraqi.
In Abu Graib our bodies are piled into pyramids.
And you ask us Madam, who does this to us?
It is, simply, the ones who you voted for in the White House.
Madam, as a loving mother, who feels the hardship of people,
And understands the language of children and the innocent laughter after the cry,
Madam, the dead and injured are in the heart of America.
They are the ones you voted for in the White House.
They are the ones you voted for,
The ones you voted for Madam.
And record this Madam: We will never ever hate anyone
We will never ever hate anyone
We don’t even hate the Americans.
Imagine this for yourself.
A city in my country, where death calls us,
It gets us with missiles … phosphorus bombs…with arrows.
You eat and we don’t, and you sleep and we don’t
And we could at anytime become stranded in our own deserts, whilst the cold attacks us.
And your soldiers wipe us out with missiles.
As days go by American Jets slaughter us.
Imagine the begging of the night,
Or the start of day,
And starving babies cry, and their eyes are filled with tears.
Imagine, there are amongst us who are Muslim, Christians, ect. And in our homes are the Qurans and Bibles.
And the American jet arrives like an eagle.
And release hundreds of times above our heads an echo of booms caused by the missiles.
And the bodies evaporate like morning flowers… like roses!!
And rise to the Creator in smoke.
Or the statues of Virgin Mary and Jesus scattered.
And the toys of are children disappear…toys we provided from the Stone Age.
And the trees in our small gardens are burnt like olive branches.
So no sheep chickens and shouts.
And no Virgin Mary cradling her son Jesus.
And we come up from underneath the rubble,
And we search with our weak bare hands under rubble, Hoping that we might come across a child’s hand or remains of a child.
Oh, Madam, Oh!
Are our sheep terrorists?
Are our children terrorists?
Are our beautiful women terrorists?
Are our babies terrorists?
Tell me: is the Virgin Mary a terrorist?
Is Jesus a terrorist?
Is Jesus a terrorist?
Tell me Madam: are all the above terrorists?
As a loving mother tell me what is terrorism?
Tell me remembering that the heavens are under the feet of the mothers.
Remember that we Arabs don’t hate anyone even the Americans!!
Come with me Madam to sing to the bird in the fields.
Come and sing with me to the children…for peace everywhere, as we Arabs are a forest of roses
We don’t hate anyone even the Americans!!
And remember forever until the end of this world that we don’t hate anyone.
The Arab citizen: Mohammed Zedan
Blood-curdling screams,
annihilated dreams
Disillusioned souls in search of purpose,
amidst grim realities that impose their presence,
perpetuated by the blatantly-callous
Rivulets of red soak a blood-thirsty Earth,
scorched black by the weapons of death
The putrid stench of rotting righteousness,
overwhelmed by the toxic fumes of hatred,
is obscured by the swirling smoke of the incinerated truth
Greed displaces reason,
clouding clarity of vision
Soldiers squint in the dark,
They're awake but unconscious,
aware yet remarkably oblivious
Not shedding a single tear,
yet dwelling in utter fear,
unable to visualize the bigger picture
Human fates unfold,
unveiling tragic tales untold
In the wake of a bitter game of dominion and survival,
desperate hearts seek revival
The Letter
Madam, have you heard…
That I talk about humanity.
Talk about the soul.
Do you know my Madam?
Do you know why I have approached you, specifically, and not all Americans?
Do you know Madam that in our belief the Heavens lie under the feet of Mothers?
Do you feel what we feel as Arabs?
We love others just as you do, we feel pain just as you do, we dream just as you do, and we have our small things.
Among us are those that are passionate, and among us are the old… the young that cry just like your young that scream.
Among us are mothers, whose hearts are full of love and care,
And are happy and sad like all people.
They cry at times of hardship… until the tears over flow.
They remember just like you remember and forget just like you do.
Every now and then, the people in my country die for nothing.
We die because we are innocent and we are Iraqi.
The prisons are filled with us and we are tortured because we are Iraqi. Only because we are Iraqi.
In Abu Graib our bodies are piled into pyramids.
And you ask us Madam, who does this to us?
It is, simply, the ones who you voted for in the White House.
Madam, as a loving mother, who feels the hardship of people,
And understands the language of children and the innocent laughter after the cry,
Madam, the dead and injured are in the heart of America.
They are the ones you voted for in the White House.
They are the ones you voted for,
The ones you voted for Madam.
And record this Madam: We will never ever hate anyone
We will never ever hate anyone
We don’t even hate the Americans.
Imagine this for yourself.
A city in my country, where death calls us,
It gets us with missiles … phosphorus bombs…with arrows.
You eat and we don’t, and you sleep and we don’t
And we could at anytime become stranded in our own deserts, whilst the cold attacks us.
And your soldiers wipe us out with missiles.
As days go by American Jets slaughter us.
Imagine the begging of the night,
Or the start of day,
And starving babies cry, and their eyes are filled with tears.
Imagine, there are amongst us who are Muslim, Christians, ect. And in our homes are the Qurans and Bibles.
And the American jet arrives like an eagle.
And release hundreds of times above our heads an echo of booms caused by the missiles.
And the bodies evaporate like morning flowers… like roses!!
And rise to the Creator in smoke.
Or the statues of Virgin Mary and Jesus scattered.
And the toys of are children disappear…toys we provided from the Stone Age.
And the trees in our small gardens are burnt like olive branches.
So no sheep chickens and shouts.
And no Virgin Mary cradling her son Jesus.
And we come up from underneath the rubble,
And we search with our weak bare hands under rubble, Hoping that we might come across a child’s hand or remains of a child.
Oh, Madam, Oh!
Are our sheep terrorists?
Are our children terrorists?
Are our beautiful women terrorists?
Are our babies terrorists?
Tell me: is the Virgin Mary a terrorist?
Is Jesus a terrorist?
Is Jesus a terrorist?
Tell me Madam: are all the above terrorists?
As a loving mother tell me what is terrorism?
Tell me remembering that the heavens are under the feet of the mothers.
Remember that we Arabs don’t hate anyone even the Americans!!
Come with me Madam to sing to the bird in the fields.
Come and sing with me to the children…for peace everywhere, as we Arabs are a forest of roses
We don’t hate anyone even the Americans!!
And remember forever until the end of this world that we don’t hate anyone.
The Arab citizen: Mohammed Zedan
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