Ahmed Mattar (Arabic أحمد مطر, born 1954) is a revolutionary Iraqi poet who has been living in exile for decades, most recently in London.
His poetry is very critical of the Arab rulers, lack of freedoms, the use of torture, clinging to power at all costs. He also laments the general situation of the Arab societies.
Mattar was born in Tanoma, a small city southern of Iraq in Basra governance. He is the fourth of ten children. He is married and has three sons and a daughter.
Mattar started composing poetry early in his life when he was fourteen. His first poems were mostly romantic before he turns to choose politics as his main subject. He recited long poems on stage where he ... more »
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Ahmed Matar Poems
Yes, I Am A Terrorist
The West cries in fear When I make a toy from a matchbox
I telephoned the hope yesterday I asked him: can you
My friend Hassan
A visit from our trusted president Who tours our country's vast extent
To Whom Should We Complain ?
To whom should we complain? And who listens to our complaints?
The Right Man
In the name of our revered alderman, they decided to hang the man who assassinated my brother.
Emir of the Informants
I was lost on the way to a friend's house So I asked the passers-by
This morning The alarm clock woke me up
Abbas behind the barricades Alert, awake, attentive
Our Leader's Esteemed Dog
Our leader's esteemed dog Bit me today and died
The Stalk Bows
I am made from dust and water Take your precautions, passersby
Comments about Ahmed Matar
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Yes, I Am A Terrorist
The West cries in fear
When I make a toy from a matchbox
While they [the West] make a gallows of my body
Using my nerves for rope.
The West panics when I announce one day
That they have torn my galabia
While it is they who have urged me to be ashamed of my culture
And to announce my joy and my utmost delight
When they violate me.
The West is sorely grieved when I worship
One God in the stillness of the prayer niche
While from the hair of their coattails and the dirt of their shoes
They knead a thousand idols that they set atop the dung heaps made of the ...