And no War can Kill me.
I am the marshes and the reed houses of the south
I am the migratory birds dancing in circles
Around the sun that embraces the marshes
...
Whenever I gaze at the candlelight
in a silent room at midnight,
with its flickering flame float
my thoughts that freely over rupture gloat.
...
My oars are broken, and the tide is high.
And the journey is long, and far is the shore.
In the sea's winding corridors I lost my cry.
Like a lion, the waves madly roar
...
Leaving home behind
against one's will
is no thing but leaving
one's own self
...
YOU wrote, long ago, of children crying
Today, I write of children dying
Like little linnets, a storm swallows their nest,
And the autumnal leaves among which to rest,
...
We are the followers of Yazid.
They are the followers of Abu Lu'lu'ah.
we are the murderers of Hussein.
They are the traitors of Hussein.
...
We are the leaves
Of the same tree.
Tied to the same root
And the same force
...
I wish I was the rain
soaking the roof of her room
and the fields far away,
mixing their dampness
...
The moon is both yellow and white
For a soul wrestling with cancer
That sadistically licks his lips
From corner to corner
...
Is this the city that I have
Tamed the perilous seas
and sailed the four corners for,
To teach people how to spell
...
When the breeze caresses her silky hair,
And when her plaits dance with the air,
Words gently fall, night and morn.
I gather them with love and care,
...
The night falls heavily upon my heart,
And blurs the visions in the space
Between my dreams and awkward sight.
Thus, sleepless I hesitantly measured
...
Here he lies, a man brave
A hero who sleeps in his grave.
The love of his land singing still
And his gun never grew shrill.
...
When I will meet thee, O Death
I will never beg thee to spare my breath,
For though my body under thy sway,
Like a once-blooming flower, will wither away,
...
The sun between the thick black flare ascends
like a child's eye covered with blood, dust and fear.
The ceaseless shelling, raids and his tears
Pour poison into his blasted ears.
...
By the sweet smell of the black flare
Of death flying in the hot air,
With tails trailing madly behind,
Soon, you will know that war is kind.
...
We sailed the dismal sea at night,
With the moon following overhead,
Sending over the watery expanse,
Its ghostly gaze and dim light.
...
My name is Estabraq (Istabraq) Rafea Gharkan. I was born in Iraq, in Anbar, Ramadi, in 1986. I have MA in English literature from the University of Baghdad/ College of Arts. Currently, I am an Asst-instructor of English poetry at the University of Anbar/ Faculty of Arts/ Dept. of English. Poetry is of a paramount importance to me. I consider teaching and writing English poetry as unique and life-changing experiences which played a vital role in shaping my mentality, gave me an opportunity to explore serious issues and helped me reach a better understanding of life. I firmly believe that poetry, as well as any form of creative writing, can undoubtedly be an effective tool to achieve cultural understanding between nations or cultures. Poetry opens our eyes to the true value and significance of cultural diversity and difference. It also stresses the need to communicate and share our values, interests and knowledge. To me, to write poetry is to write your identity and to expose your cultural heritage, by peaceful means, to the other in order to bridge any cultural gap. Thus, my future goals aim at studying creative writing in order to develop my creative talent as a poet and to help people change their life for the better.)
No War Can Kill Me
And no War can Kill me.
I am the marshes and the reed houses of the south
I am the migratory birds dancing in circles
Around the sun that embraces the marshes
That embrace the clay that preserves my name
And story.
And no War can Kill me.
And no War can kill me.
I am the white-clothed mountains of the north
Listening to the choir of the almond trees
And the gurgling waterfalls singing full throat
The eternal song of love the triumphant,
Hearts the defiant and life the celebrant.
And no War can kill me.
And no War can Kill me.
I am the sleeping orange orchards of the east
Awaken by the melting of joy in the bosom
Of the sand grains and water, mixing their secrets
With the roots to shoot flowers with a beauty
That is not terrible.
And no War can Kill me.
And no War can Kill me.
I am the water wheels of Euphrates of the west
Titillated by the soft wind to roll over the water
With which our land performs ablution to cleanse
Its sinews from the malignant footprints of the invaders
And the traitors. And no War can Kill me.
And no War can kill me.
I am the dawn inhaling the breeze of Tigris
As it kingly walks among welcoming farmers,
Leaving behind green-appareled fields brimful with
Love, bounty, hope, desire and ecstasy.
And no War can kill me.
And no War can Kill me.
I am the Assyrian, the Babylonian, the Acadian, and the Sumerian.
I am Gilgamesh who never felt tired in his search for immortality.
I am the Law Code of Hammurabi and the cuneiform
Which guided civilization through dark seas to the golden shores.
I am the history that no one can falsify
Or deny.
And no War can Kill me.
And no War can Kill me.
I am the sun watching over the palm-trees
While they pray to God to ripen their palm dates
So that Mary the Virgin, her son and all the hungry souls
Can eat fresh palm dates as many as the stars
That they were told to count to forget their hunger,
And sleep.
And no War can Kill me.
I am the virgin seed of eternity and its first breath.
So no War can Kill me.
The Americans were the first humans to step on the moon and were also the first humans to drop a nuclear bomb.
Illiteracy does not necessarily mean the lack of education because it essensially entails man's failure to live up to his humanity.
I was always wondering about how and why the world enjoyed watching the Iraqi children while they were starving to death during the ill-famed embargo that was unjustly imposed on Iraq, but I stopped wondering the moment I came to know that famine took the lives of more than 39 million Indians.
Love that is told comes from the heart but that which is untold comes from God.
Religious sectarianism is man's deadliest weapon.
The ash-heap of history(history's dustbin) is the dirties place ever known.
An ignorant becomes idiot if he speaks about love, and a hypocrite if he speaks about faith and religion.
A brainless guy would never miss a big lie.
Real and eternal love is mysterious. It needs no reason, cause or incentive to come forth.
Love in the modern times is like the Saints's relics; both are meant to prevent people from acting individually.
Writing poetry is just like talking to a trustworthy companion
The best poem is the one that tickles us to tears.
Nice site