Gunpowder and cordite hang in the air,
Searing lungs, I whisper a prayer.
Tensions thick, bullets flying,
A time for killing...A time for dying.
Pools of blood flood the ground,
Wounded and dying all around.
Staccato firing deafens my ears,
A state of ultimate exile,
Ultimate fears.
When the gunfights over, I look around,
No one speaks, heads just hanging down.
Every day and every night,
That's what its like in an Iraqi gunfight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem