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Wednesday, October 26, 2016

My Longtime Brush

Someone will happen upon it,
next to the mouse trap.
By then, the dust of hours passed
would drench its identity,
a commercial brush...

Purchased by an Iraqi-American
or American-Iraqi -whichever convenient,
accompanied by a British-Iraqi -indefinitely,
at some 'capitalist' mall,
where the lures of 'fantasy feminism'
were at play.

They will happen upon it,
next to the trash can,
and wonder,
who chose to brush their mind away
during laborious empty days of
deep thought?
Who decided to void
their gender,
their identity,
for pennies on the dollar,
in this promised new life?

They will question;
the taste acquired,
the judgement,
the quality assessed,
and the final
to discard a plastic
"Vicky C's" brush
under a
work desk
at a law firm,
and leave it
contaminated by
rat dung,
that at some point
had launched 
centuries of war-triggered O.C.D.
in one single second.

Wednesday, August 03, 2016

Tall Baghdad Nights

We slept on cool, 
gently breezed rooftops
under clear soaring skies.

Stars so high, 
they stooped 
to kiss 
the gentle hands of God.

We lay enveloped in white sheets,
as pure as the fronds 
of newborn date palms
under the Baghdad sun 
as the day dragged on.

At night, covered in crystal
net tents,
twisting the fiercest of 
gnats' ambitions.

Our dreams as pure
as Jesus's peace
on earth. 

Little did we know...
that soon the stars 
would be waging wars
our dreams,
against our sleep,
against our peace...

Thursday, March 03, 2016

Evil Eye

I left an eye
blue stone 
and wide
high on the wall
staring straight
at an empty floor.

I let an eye
lids lowered
over canvas-covered chairs.

I raised the eye 
above the window
so sky was near...
Still semi-precious 
soaked the heaped pieces
of the past.

No canvas is 
for the sores born of wars.

The immunity from memories 
at the seams 
of our stitched-up fears.
This eye
and the constant stare.

No evil enters
the front door.

And yet
all the eyes 
and all the blue
and all the stones

... could not stop a single war.