Places

Baghdad, Iraq

Baghdad, Iraq

« There you are returning to her once more. You never knew how many times you left and how many times you said you would never go back to her. »  —Sadek Mohammah, Archaeology of Scorched Cities

At last, a real Iraqi election, the event we have waited decades to see, is coming true. And now, as we prepare to vote, we remember all those who sacrificed their lives, their families and their youth, so that such...

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Baby…
I mean -- Dear…
I mean, Hello!
Yes, hello – this is more appropriate.
I hope you won’t be very sorry—given all that you’ve inflicted upon me—that I abandoned you.
It wasn’t true that I...

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Eternity

Surgical ward
Previous generations
Surgery table
Swords
Horses
Minarets…

And here we are
On the same table
-As it has been always-
Naked
With...

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In this dark land
We inherited black clothes,
Black thoughts
And black rain.
We witnessed the execution of the palms
And killing of the rivers.
In this olive colored land,
When a...

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Perhaps, I should begin by informing the honorable audience that I am from a country and a people that have wars that come in all sizes, types, shapes and colors. We have short wars and we have long wars. We have fat...

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Images …images
these are just images,
old images,
new images,
images of youth,
images of old age,
images of the open life
in spite of the ferocity of bullets,
images of the...

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[Interview performed by Farideh Hassanzadeh]

"The Iraqi roses (poems) flourish today every where in the world."

"Being very abstract, brief and digested poetry could not depict these horrible deeds."...

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She is the remains
of sails
fought over by cats
from the tattered ends of tribes.
Her bleak mast
dreams of pirates
that will force out her...

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When a man begets war and doesn't know

what to do with it, should he bathe it? Should he

clothe it? Should he feed it? Should he comb its

hair and send it with its siblings to school?

...

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She works meticulously, inserting the tip of the needle into a small gap of wool, looping the yarn around the second needle. Her eyes never blink, they are intently focused as she purses her lips and observes the...

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The fever called "living"! – Edgar Allan Poe

An ancient lightning… a small courtyard… a green spot in a child's memory… summers, hot summers… a ghetto that knows rain and mud… and looks forward to mysterious...

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1

He is alone in the hall,
red cup in hand,
feather hat on head.

Through the window one can see scattered corpses,
knocked down trees
and a handful of rabid dogs
wandering...

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