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By the gates of Baghdad Museum
Are the footprints of past guards
And past monks.
Words crawl
Stone museum objects gather.
Having opened a hole in the wall with speech
And draped the museum with songs of freedom
The cowboys pass through the corridors.
They stop by the statue of Abso
They dance the samba by the skeleton of Godya
By the Tablets they listen to speeches.
Time has no meaning
Nor do the Museum`s trees
Until the convoys come to lift out the crown of Uruk.
The incense of the temples follows the aircraft
The monks sip the rest of the bullets
And beat the drums
And are moved by horses to the Pentagon.
Take the blue pumpkin and the birds of the Assyrians!
The winged oxen fly over Congress
Almaukeb Street disappears in Soho
The dragonflies hover over Wall Street
And the friends of the Museum clap
The futile efforts to reclaim Mesopotamia
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Translated by : J.Tachmintzis