The city is a wound that language stitches
It's an era where even the sky cannot contain our restlessness
When flying has no place to embrace you, it becomes wandering
Nature is a museum when viewed with today's eyes,
It turns yellow
With this view flowers don't bloom
A century won't display a green painting for us
You see no letter of memory clings to the height of a willow tree!
No one is seen whose soul waves in the heights for a rendezvous
No one is seen who has laid out a prayer rug towards their heart
Everyone prays for their eyes
What's more frightening than
• A human staring at the sky?
Who doesn't say one day a cloud in its final cry
Will return life to the beginning!
Do you think caves will shelter us again?
What a sickness life is!
The earth in place of my heart,
Beats like a round ball inside my body
As if only I hear its cry and no one else cares.
I walk through the streets and no smile rebuilds my path
The streets here wet with beggars' tears
I walk and collect those songs that spill from drunkards' mouths
When they drunkenly [mourn] their lost age
Our city whitened the hair of those
Who wanted the city's heart not to blacken
Oh my God
Why don't you send a rainbow necklace
For the neck of these black streets of our silent city?
Oh my God, give me a planet
Let poets rebuild it
Give me a language
That no one can translate your name into the language of war
Give me a lamp from your light,
So the city won't get lost in darkness
Oh my God, give me a memory so the city won't forget its memories
So that the city will no longer fear you, nor be deceived by Satan, nor kill its poets.
- Iman Yadawar
Iraq
Friday, April 11, 2025
Poem by Iman Yadawar
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