Friday, April 16, 2010

Spoken Baghdad

I wrote this piece a few years ago on a sticky smoky morning. I never performed it live. Today, I recorded it for an inspirational artist and fighter, Sundus Abdul Hadi. Please read it and let me know where it sits in your world.


What's my relationship to God?
Where was he when they killed Baghdad?
City left to rot
Perpetrators took pride in the act and no one was caught
Systematic theft of life key to the murder plot
Canadian flags were used to choke me trying to convince me that I forgot
How my home looked before its soul was wrapped up in a knot
And scribbled on dirty Dinars dripping in blood mixed with oil drops
My brothers were filling graves and babies went missing from their cots
And generations were sold to the nearest nation building shop
Where massacres would be carried out by the cops
And kids turned thugs tell you stop
And drop
your name and which religion you chose to adopt
And wrong answers will mean that you're popped
Unless of course you died from the bombs that were dropped
Or the thirteen years of sanctions that killed one point five million in what was another forgotten holocaust
And yes, Iraqis are being killed at their own cost
Meaning that they are paying for everything from American marines to a so called government that is mourning when these baby killers are lost
Or applauding soldiers lucky enough to get shot
or smart enough to gain a lesson taught
in that Fallujah resists till the last pop
And what, now they want a podium to stand on top?
And now preach their regrets for the Iraqi people
thats like telling the indigenous that liberation is gonna come from the steeple
or that Palestinians will see no evil just as long as they forget about the destroyed villages under the feet of Tel Avivers
and all these other racist ways in which we perceive
people's rights
telling Iraqis when to fight
and its ok to write just as long as you don't ignite
a gunfight in the middle of the night
to take back what's rightfully mine
i need to see each line as a piece of shrapnel in the spine
of those fighting this so called divine battle
where people are turned into cattle
waiting to be slaughtered
as the days get hotter
coffins decorate our sons and daughters
we have two of the longest sweetest rivers but we're still searching for water
we all knew that Operation Iraqi Freedom meant death
and none of us mistook any of the promises as a new breath
instead, we looked at it as an excuse for more theft
and now look what's left
what's my option
now that I've been sold in an auction
where Canada won me or hopefully lost in
but Iraq will be back as women refuse to die jumping back in your face from the graves in which they were tossed in
we must
we don't even have trust
for neighbors that share the same wind gust
it is to Syria and Amman that are future is being bussed
and Baghdad how can you be gone?
I dream of kissing you in the nights of Ramadan
with the lighter on
keep your hat tighter on
there's a military jet fighter on his way
and today he plans to take away the right to play
and the right to sway
and say what's on your mind
like hi my name is Baghdad and I love Palestine
and thieves will meet with thugs in ways that are clandestine
behind mosques
and sing songs
of how long they pretend to have struggled
not knowing all they bring is trouble and rubble
and strengthen the bubble
in which we live
Baghdad who will you forgive
will i be able to come back, stand, and live with
i am ashamed
you are brave
standing in the face of thieves and soldiers using their rifles to rape cripple and maim
and all i can do is write poetry that's lame.