I wish that the rain which washes our street
our Buckthorn that is pregnant with children
The house-Sparrow's Nest
Fall inside me
I am no longer pure
Oh my Lord
Which, since I have migrated away
From our Buckthorn
And that sweet pain!
All the going down lanes
become a haven
and the wet cats best friends
Oh my Lord ... what If
Oh, my Lord ...
... I'm cursed
where the desire to be
human is a dream!!
The solicitous, obsession and the pain the vomiting
and the bottles of desire be a haven
I hope the rain washes me
I am pure Oh, my Lord!!
But I need some rain
to go back a green-eyed child
with sword of wood
and broom with eyes of a horse
and laughable tatters
O, my Lord!
Why do not we rain like the clouds?
And why we face what we do not demand?
Why did the children of our city
Did not draw a festival for years
Did not draw crescents or suns
while I am waiting for the bus
I do not care about any cat-woman's meow
I’m not awaiting but for the coming of the rain
Alone, O Lord
is capable to wash me
Alone, my friend!
is able to turn us all into lovers
From the Book of Poems (Iraq … Love, Death, and Beyond).
SPECIAL THANKS Wholehearted thanks is extended to
My friends and associates who assisted with proofreading
My poems in English:
Daniel T. Ames, (Life Wins,
The Temple of Sorrows, Good Morning Me,
Wounding the Dark, & Fleeing Paradise) Ira C. Houck, & Weam Namou,
(September Rain) Salaam Mishkoor, (Shatha’s Garden,
A Woman From Above,
East Memoir, &
Amer Hanna Fatuhi
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