Lifestyle
Gossiping
Poetry
Jawad Selim's painting
Nissan Salim Raaft
The wolves devour us, seeking vengeance for the shirt,
And the lions consume us just to proclaim their strength.
The whales swallow us, only to spit us out on the shores again.
Yet, the essence of it all is that we are alive.
Confusion gnaws at our minds, and our questions grow vast
Who among us possesses the courage
Who insults the wisdom of the heavens, rousing the angels
to inform them of the corruption in this grandest tale of betrayal
I will write…
I will write about the most trivial things,
About the notion of living unbalanced game,
And how we’ve become like mice,
searching for traps,to ease our souls
in a life neglected by the hunters.
We are the ones who lost the compass of our land,
envying the gulls for the islands
And the crows for the graves... No hoopoe to reveal our plight,
No prophecy to save us from those who have denied and condemned us.
Cities have died within us,
The streets have lost their way
through the songs they sang,
And life has slain the homes,
rendering the doors powerless forever.
Is there no gentle hope in this land,
Pierced beneath our feet?
The wind is the same,with no difference between its yesterday and tomorrow;
Each time it returns, its fury intensifies,
And we are still searching for ourselves.
When will we return, and will we be gathered? Perhaps.
I miss you,
And what Baghdad is devoid of pain.
Who among us possesses the courage
Who insults the wisdom of the heavens, rousing the angels
to inform them of the corruption in this grandest tale of betrayal
I will write…
I will write about the most trivial things,
About the notion of living unbalanced game,
And how we’ve become like mice,
searching for traps,to ease our souls
in a life neglected by the hunters.
We are the ones who lost the compass of our land,
envying the gulls for the islands
And the crows for the graves... No hoopoe to reveal our plight,
No prophecy to save us from those who have denied and condemned us.
Cities have died within us,
The streets have lost their way
through the songs they sang,
And life has slain the homes,
rendering the doors powerless forever.
Is there no gentle hope in this land,
Pierced beneath our feet?
The wind is the same,with no difference between its yesterday and tomorrow;
Each time it returns, its fury intensifies,
And we are still searching for ourselves.
When will we return, and will we be gathered? Perhaps.
I miss you,
And what Baghdad is devoid of pain.
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