Neither a Fall nor Liberty Day

I was about to publish a cheerful poem when I noticed it's April 9th already. I felt ashamed of that day and I just couldn't publish the poem. It would be a waste of time to post romantic words when the world was rocked on this date. It was "Baghdad fall" as they call it, or "Baghdad liberation's day" if you may. But I don't know what to call it. For me it's definitely none of them both.

April 9th 2003, early morning. It was mourning rather than a morning. I remember that day minute by minute. The shock was obvious on all faces you know. The voices were choked. Eyes were sleepy. No brain could bare the news.

I was sleeping at our relative's, as we used to spend wartime at their home better than our home, which was near what they call now the green zone. How ironic, green zone were the lives are harvested now. I was sleeping on the ground just like most Iraqis during wartime, I heard the family talking about it, but somehow couldn't believe it. I tried to burry my head between my pillow and quilt trying to smother their voices talking about uncanny news. I closed my eyes trying to persuade myself to go back to sleep to end this nightmare. Nevertheless, unfortunately I wasn't asleep. I wasn't dreaming. I didn't want to think about it not loving what we had but frightened by what will happen.

Whatever you call this date I still insist is not. Baghdad is still standing and still struggling to gain liberty. Baghdad is still resisting just like it will always be.

Therefore, it is neither a fall nor a liberty.