Basra Awaits A Musa Poem by Ahamad Ilyaas Vilayathullah

Now that the tyrant is gone,
You fail to know
What your position today is.

He was a tyrant, no doubt.
But there was an order
In the disorder.

The madness, sure, had a method.
Now, do you find only madness?
What else did
you see in Basra?

The ribs of your darling little,
Baha Musa, trampled and broken,
Now a lifeless lump!

Perhaps, they were celebrating
The glory of their military might,
And the Blare they heard.

Do not call them killers, nor savages,
These are your names.
And naming is their business.

And they have come to liberate you
From the oppressor, the tyrant,
And read no ironies in these words.

The age of ironies is gone.
And you live in the pure
White age of the liberators.

You children of Abraham,
How do you stand
This much liberty,
This much affection?

Put all your might together.
The little Baha Musa will be
Reborn in your Basra city.

A Musa to challenge
The double-headed
Pharaoh of the age.