.

The Hanging Nation

Two or three years passed since I gathered jasmines
To make a necklace for the nation
I thought of the nation like a swing
Or a wet- nurse doing the rounds
I thought of it as a mule or a donkey carrying the foreigners` bags
I thought of it as a father with a long moustache raising his stick to history
I thought of it as a mother doing the rounds with her round bread
A year ago
I saw the nation hanging on the Hanging Bridge
I said its convoy will settle
And its children will crawl
Past the blocked bridges to their schools
I saw the nation before the gates of the burnt Ministries
Thin, raising its arms to heaven
I said the promise of the Founding Fathers will come true
And what the New York Times said will come true
And what CNN said will come true
And what USA Today said will come true
And what the BBC said will come true
It will come true. It will come true
I start feeding the nation words
And giving it speech to drink
We sleep together on the pavement of the revolutions
Covering ourselves with satisfaction
We had enough good will
But the hanging nation is still hanging
And the Founding Fathers teach the nation the rules of hypocrisy
While robbing it as it raises its arms to the heavens
Alone, looking at the empty space

In memory of Sergio Vieira de Millo

( UN Representative in Iraq assassinated in 2003)

Once upon a time of alienation
A woman appeared as if from all the continents
She lived in Brazil, traveled to Hong Kong,
Slept on the plains of Asia
A woman from the mythology of the past
Followed by shadows, music, incense
Welcomed by rice feasts and rituals
She gave birth to boy who belonged to the world
De Millo came to Arachid Street
Followed by barbed wire
And army binoculars
The land was awakened by fear
And slept with ghosts
And the politicians` pile of trash grew bigger
De Millo made his way through the crowds to see for himself
And declared: here is a utopia for those who feel strangers in their own land
He drank many bitter coffees
Looking at the nights of Baghdad he saw
No lovers, no flowers, no love poems of Abi nawas
No poetry of Alrasafi, no Almeidan Square, no cinema lights
De Millo made a map of Iraqi sadness
He swam in the marshy waters
He flew with the geese above it
He marked the borders of suffering
He followed the barbed wire and the binoculars
De Millo came back with a wreath of jasmine
Painted a people`s utopia in the shape of Iraq
De Millo bore the burden under the ruins, fire and bullets.

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
..................
Translated by : J.Tachmintzis