Monday, February 27, 2006

Much More to Come!

One of my favorite songs goes like this:

"I'm frightened by what I see
But somehow I know
That there's much more to come
Immobilized by my fear
And soon to be
Blinded by tears"

Many days passed and I have not posted a single word. With the news on TV, websites, and blogsphere, everything indicates the coming of a civil war. It is not easy to believe the media; they can make a mountain out of a grain. Nevertheless, this time it seems true. Shrines have been bombed. Mosques have been attacked. How can all this happen under the "ruling" of a government that claims it includes wise men both politicians and religious. Not forgetting that this country is under occupation that some allege, "They are here to uphold our so-called liberation".

Many days passed, each time I try to write I come up with mad, bloody and furious words that I cannot put together to express my feelings. I was not there. I did not hear a bomb or a single bullet. I am away from my beloved country. The country I wish I can go back to and pray for every night before I sleep. Feeling guilty, not knowing why. Is it because I am safe and they are not? Is it because I do not need to worry there will be a bomb on my way back home? Alternatively, the reason could be that everybody I know back home envy me for having a peaceful life and praise me that I planned well to get myself out of Iraq before it is too late?.

It did not take a minute to know that every thing was planned earlier. Under the curfew, how could anyone act with such high-speed? The shrine was bombed, curfew, next thing you know the mosques are being attacked!

Sighs and pain paralyze my pen. Words are gone.

I try to make sure that every one I know is fine and still alive. I pray for their safety. My usual prayers were "Oh dear God, keep those whom I love and those who love me safe. Keep those whom I know and those who know me safe. Pleas God; keep my relatives, friends and neighbors safe."

I cannot believe how selfish I was to say these prayers. What about the rest? Don't they have families, friends and neighbors?

Today I pray: "Dear God, keep Iraq and Iraqis united and safe"

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

A Reply to "A Multi-entries Post"

1. I started writing this post as a comment on Morbid Smile’s post “A multi-entries Post” then it turn out to be a very long comment so I decided to post it here as I haven’t posted for a while.
2. My sisters came to visit from Jordan last week and I was busy with them. They are staying for two weeks more.
3. My mom’s uncle died 3 days ago (May he rest in peace). I wanted to dedicate a post to him but I kept postponing it. I don’t feel to write now.

Yes, indeed. There is something wrong with us, Iraqis, with blogging. For the last two weeks I’ve been writing almost everyday but I just don’t publish them. Why? Still trying to figure it our. I thought there was nothing to write but when I start writing everything comes up. It seems I want to talk about many things but don’t know from where to start.

My Muse was around most of the times but the problem is I’m listening to too much Evanescence, too much Metallica that all my images are dark and about death. (You read my last poem) I should try to listen to something else. I used to write love poems when I was studying Shakespearean sonnets. Then I turned to monologues and psycho-like genre after reading Virginia Wolf’s stories. My sister’s friend once told me I needed a rebellion kind of poems. With what’s going on in the world I do believe I need to do so.

Lately, I too, discovered I talk a lot to myself (especially in English). First I thought that’s just because I don’t have much friends around these days, my sisters were away BUT now I know you must add a third freak if you like : ) but I remember one of our teachers said that we should think in English to speak perfect English. So no need to worry.

About the lectures we had together in Baghdad University: Lectures should include discussions but our lectures were more like a monologue. I improved my English 50% in Jordan because our classes were small (maximum 15 students) more fun and you remember the lesson when you argue and support your point of view. Only one doc. Used to give us “one-side conversation” but he was in his late 70’s. The students were maximum 5, who used to sleep on the desk, except for me. I fell in love with the mind of this old man. And I used to wonder why I can’t find someone with this mentality in my age.

I forgot all about Saddam’s trial. It seems it’s just a show from both sides. But one thing keeps coming to my mind. I know there were innocents involved but what would any president (good or evil) do if there was an intention to assassinate him?

Dreams in English… not that weird. When I was 16, I remember I once dreamt I was a member of the Backstreet Boys…though I’m a girl. We had a concert and then we went home and we were all in my room talking about how it was a great night on the stage. And then they had to leave because AJ lives in an isolated area around Baghdad and it was getting late.
I woke up the next day bragging I dreamt of the BSB as if it was real.

That’s all for now,
Greetings for all.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

The Clock is Ticking

The clock is ticking
The bell is tolling
They all attempt to alarm you
For the need of the good deed you must do

The clouds are gathering
The birds are hovering
The attempts never stop
When you are in need of good deeds to lift you up

Eyes are staring
Hell is stirring
Everybody wants to save you
So you won't be a member of the black army

The wind blew
Children grew
You are standing still
In the same spot where you were killed

Waiting for an angel
Or would it be a devil
Will you be dragged to hell?
Or will you be lifted up to heaven

The clock is ticking
Declaring the coming
Of an imaginary demon
To disturb the living
On earth and heaven

She sleeps with no motion
Her face with no emotion
She keeps saying her prayer
Asking for salvation for her lover

He runs in panic
With each tick frantic
He, a blasphemous neurotic,
Yet she prays for him, oh how ironic!

Tick-tack, the clock is ticking
Run fast, from your fate you can't keep fleeing
Tick-tack, time is running
Run fast, but you can do nothing
You'll try to runaway
Want to getaway
Find another day
But you are doomed to your misery.