A Negative

To those days--bombing monuments…
When the soul talked for long to the roar of the truth…

1
Procreation of light enlightens a hazy picture of fossilized memory and of panicked horrors of an effaced dream:
"Streets…warplanes...faces sink in sadness…eyes disappear in their caverns…voices of rescue…newscasts…darkness…light…,night…day…"

He opened his eyes: the sun finger was pinned on his forehead, and a beautiful sparrow was jumping in the fist of light...

2
"From the very beginning, the soul awakened this flower of land, and awakening the land…a feather in the creation ever she was…spreading her forms inside the folds of time…"

He closed his eyes and gazed at the memory: the flower of death is still standing since what, he can’t remember…he turned the evening and awoke a small child fist in his silence bottom...
"The soul was turning the stones off to enlighten the lilies, unweave her shapes in the space silence…and when she settled in the creation quiver, she turned to awaken the sea…"
A sudden call awoke him:
-New blood blew out in the routes of pain.
He opened the misery and stored the message!
The child's fist…how small it is!
He still remembers when he met it one night in the cumulating of slaughters, and how it surrendered to him…
"The soul was…"
Vertigo: the child's fist…the soul flower…the rescue noise…a vortex moving away vanishing inside a coal-black focus…
3
He fumbled his sorrow and remembered the sea…and a night when the sky was menstrous, its red veins were lightening melting the emigrants…he remembered the killed ones, and the fallen in the storms' madness, their burdens in the freshets, and a night when they awoke after in the morning of the cities…
4
A sky, a number of ancient prophets, and a history's headsman fettering them…
They encompassed him, fumbled his wound and the bandage, and clarified the reasons that postponed their resurrection…
He was unable to smile so he satisfied with drowning:
"Here is the soul in the sea's temple spreading her hair, carving a small statue of a sea for no reason but the appetence of creation, he extended his arm and met her, he found himself in the heavens of hope…he remembered the lost ones in the disasters' ages, and a journey where they realized the secret, so they amassed pain mountains, and set fire to the memory.

5
A cloudy burst, light…
The warplanes returned so he fell down on ground, watching an ember moving away in the folds of time…
How slim the soul was in the lucency of misery! ...existence, minutes, and a cry that extends from the appetence of earth ‘till the body's secret quiver…
Slim!—he even saw the silence as a bee, and the sorrow crucified on an extinguished cry!
The earth suddenly shook-a close shelling!
The warplanes were, since the morning, spitting sadness and pestilence, they were infected with blood…
6
The eye remained red in the eyelid, the ground remained red…
"Dripping…ceilings drip…red storming in the streets…appetence at the boundaries of the existence sending a bird to the moon's gittern…a star unweaving the dream for ages…a primitive one tearing up a snooze's mouth…a fist falling on the ground followed by churlish ones with claws and weapons…"
He opened his eyes; the dream blueness was injurious so he closed them up:
"The freshets' madness besieges the streets…and the refugees say farewell to their women and life…graveyards float and read their names on the panel of fate…hospitals overflow…rescue sounds…newscasts…faces disappear in the wave of calamity…
The soul was skinned in the temple of the earth
And the earth was fevered and shivering…"
And he was shivering when he was awoken by his killed neighbor's fingers…
7
Glow: A nurse moved a certain window shade so the glow infiltrated…
The child's fist is marked in the silence, and the heart's windows are wide open in the air:
"The soul remained seeding the years till the sea blossomed, and when the mud leafed she metamorphosed it into an ewer, and bred in the palpitation ‘till it took shape, so she took shape, dropped her legend, and cast herself into creation, after leaving a warm semen…"
8
A sky, and some ancient profits, turned their faces, and moved away in the sky…
9
When he woke up, misery scars had already blossomed…
He became a shape in wars waste wasting his years, disappearing in the emptiness like a fly in the fist of light…
He got effacing his dreams' evening and the stars…and sleeping cuffed to an image of a snake hissing at broken crowds…
He was infected with sorrow, and sudden wounds' burst…
And one night, when death scenes were embodied on the air's foam, he mumbled a cloudy word and died…
10
Sun!…the earth's flower in the prophecy's lucency; a child's small fist leaving its traces on the silence…and a daily song about creation grows in a starting story:
It was a story about the seasons of sorrow
And it was the journey of the pigmented body
The processions of the years strolled
Till the dream petrified
And the hope was driven back
The years were injurious like spearheads
In that late journey

Here we are in our book
Here we awaken
Our years are exposed to the lightning
Our depths are exposed to the horizon
Touches us and existence
And a forgotten image of life
Come upon us
In the upcoming cities.

 

Baghdad, 1998

 

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* Negative of a film. This text expresses the war in 1991.