The Good Old Days

I often lose my way in the big city,

and then, I miss home

the good old way I knew very well. 

I miss not using google map, because I know my way 

I miss, if lost, asking for directions, 

How all would offer to help,

They know their city damn well,

No body is a tourist there....

I miss going to work, knowing so much is waiting,

I miss the history I shared with them all:

Here is someone I refused once to help,

and there is a colleague who didn't like my provoking posts..

I miss walking the familiar roads 

There in the university gardens with my only friend

Whine together how hard our job was!!

I miss my way back home, 

The familiar noise of the youngest ones,

fighting over the remote,

I miss all the old ways of the world,

Where nothing sounds good, but I knew it perfectly well. 

Talking Back

Maybe it is all I can do,
Maybe it is all I have,
But if I have nothing else, my words will talk back...

They will push off your hand,
Hard pressed against my mouth,
They will cry loud against white and black,
No turban will shroud my soul;
My voice will always shout back...

My grandmother's wise sigh,
My mother's desparate gaze,
Their wrapped-heads in black
Will always talk back ...

From your bombs, I pick my pen,
From repression I choose my ink,
And on your turban I will write back

Songs of resistance and resilience
Songs of life born new,
I will be defiantly talking back...
   

The Story of Every Eid in Iraq

I am not sure what I am saying here, but I need to say it. We don't just live a miserable life, but we resign to the miserable fate willingly. Our lives don't matter anymore, not even to ourselves.

With every explosion, I read people's comments on the many lives lost in each incident, most of which are just passive and submissive. Most would dismiss the blood shed for no reason, with passive prayer "May God give them mercy, and end in heaven" (الله يرحمهم، يجعل مثواهم الجنة)!! Then they dismiss the pain of the victim's family with another submissive phrase, "May God give them patience" (الله يصبرهم ). After that we move on to live the rest of our days thinking this is why we are created: to live, die, then end up in heaven or hell!

Ironically, their killers from IS think and say the same, believing their recruits to to have God's mercy, to end in heaven. They also condole the families of the dead using the same words!!

I kept browsing all the pages reporting the explosion in Karrada, reading the comments, hoping that while people write away their sadness with a sentence of two, they would curse the government, and swear vengeance for the dead!! They do curse the government, but they seem to accept death as a fate!! They believe we all will die in a predestined date, probably predestined manner!

(If so, why do we have to punish those who are only God's tool to fulfill what he destined for us?!! Simply, it doesn't make sense!)

The explosion of Karada is no news for Iraqis. For years now Iraqis celebrate Eid with innocent blood, shed around its streets, with black flags hanging around its walls, and with cries of widows, orphans and bewailing mothers. No body is held responsible, because it is the will of God to have these innocents die; it is the will of God to wipe off smiles from every Muslim's face and replace it with tears. It is Allah's will, هذه ارادة الله Praise be to Allah, الحمد لله !!

We sign out, we move on to the next episode of some ridiculous human drama in far away land, meanwhile ask why we can't live like them? then dismiss these sinful thoughts with "You have God Iraq!" الك الله يا عراق

and the story continues.....  

Leaping Back and Forth

Safe haven is but an illusion,
a matrix of heaven and hell.
At the age of 38, I took a leap,
but not of faith.
A leap out of the cave.
I saw a light.
Now I can recognize the dark.
I can't go back.

Home is no longer 'home'.
My time ended there.
I was no longer welcomed there.
Every breath was a protest.
All tightened up against my eyes.
All felt small.

It was just the time to search for a new place.
I packed up and hit the road,
seeking refuge in foreign lands,
alien world.
 But I had no other choice.
The life I was building was bombed off:
a castle in the air.
It was time, to change places,
 seek new heavens.
The old paradise turned to new hell. 

When I came here, great expectations filled the air.
Great in stature and great in multitude.
I thought the sky was the limit,
but it turned to be my head scarf!
I will always be the foreigner,
I will  always be that Muslim girl!
I can't take it off;
I won't be me.
I will feel strange.
I won't recognize my reflection in their eyes.
Keeping it alienates me back
toward the 'home' I left,
captivates me in my foreignness.
I still wear the scarf.
It is my way back, when I lose direction. 

Back home, no one dreams of tomorrow.
Tomorrow is a prisoner of fear.
Back home, life is born of agony,
immature, stillborn.
Life ends before it begins and other ghosts survive:
long live the tribe! or is it, long live Islam?
or probably, the state?
Does our God needs cheering as well?
Long live Allah?!
It doesn't make sense. 

Back home, we lost our ways to sanity,
but found it toward sainthood:
we gaze at heaven, but feed the flames of hell.
Long live the Imam.
Isn't he alive for centuries now?
isn't he bored with this life?
At 38, I still search for a resting place,
Yet, he's survived!
Wars, floods, famine, and all earth's angry moves.
He just survived!
Does he watch, waiting for the right moment to make an entrance,
when all the world will hail him the savior?
He is probably wandering unaware of voices getting louder everyday:
long live the Imam!! 

Home feels hundred of years away.
I came and took the leap of time,
left the matrix of heaven and hell.
I jumped to a reality, unknown.
Foreign lands.
They still alienate me back home, but I refuse to leap back.
I refuse to submit again.
I am out of the cave, at last! 

How is Baghdad

You ask about Baghdad, 'how is it now?'

(You probably think of the news,

You want confirmation).

For a second, I close my eyes,

Not easy, to answer that sort of a question!

I open my eyes, ready to answer:

Hold on a moment, let me think how to reply,

(I want to sound smart)

I think of the postcolonial burden,

Race, gender, ethnicity,

All hold me back....

I need to tell you something intelligent:

(Shall I give a witty answer?

Ironically funny?

Borrow from pop culture? Movies perhaps?

Shall I continue the game of a sophisticated academic?)

The moment grows too long, I need to face your inquiry...

I swallow all the images of blood, destruction and war,

(No need to explain),

I hold off tears, and simply say,

"Baghdad is not fine!"

Bloody Wednesday 11/05/2016

I was thinking of writing so many things: the sunshine that every Londoner is celebrating with their kids, family and friends. I wanted to write about the kids playing in parks happy that they have a sunny day they can enjoy outside. I wanted to write about my alienation in the university, my dreams of uncertain future and so many other things rushing into my mind. But this happened: three explosions in Baghdad that shattered off hundreds of dreams, plans, and lives. Three explosions that ended lives still taking their first steps toward the world. Three explosions ending smiles resisting poverty, challenging the stagnation of life. They happened, and all I could do was to shed few tears and then sleep on my comfortable bed, enjoying the Spring breeze coming from my open window. Life goes on, but only outside Iraq.

Iraqi woman running in panic searching for her son after the explosion

Little blooming flowers, instead of looking after them to grow and flourish, we pluck them off prematurely and leave them to face terrible end

This is what is happening in Baghdad, and then they say IS took the responsibility of what happened. Seriously? the responsibly is of those who pledged to keep us safe, the responsibility of those who took these people’s money to give them “better life”. They didn’t even give them better “end”! IS can pay for and recruit people to do these explosions, but did it pay to the government to neglect those living a terrible life, and die terrible death? Maybe this is the case. Who knows!?

I don't know if I can say more, but it is a reality that we have to live with every day. When the explosion ends, and survivors go home, we talk about what happened, and in a sense of resignation to our predestined fate, go on with our lives, unaware we could be next!