Feeling a bit homesick lately, i wrote this.



The heart is a flower,
Wilting,
Dying,
It needs you.
In the darkness,
It feeds from its sadness,
The beacon, is you,
My hope,
My Iraq,
It is you,
Wilting because of you,
It needs you my Iraq,
Water thee, from your Euphrates,
Your Tigress.
Let me regain what I have lost,
Your love, my home.
Oh, I do not dither,
The heart, the mind, Uniting, choosing you,
My love, you are my motherland,
Oh by the names of Inana and Ishtar
My heart is Trembling,
Estranged,
In a strange land,
but,
no longer feeling estranged of your vicious inside,
Your violence and killer bombs,
For that I know, it is not you.
I am writing poetry,
Of a strange link to my essence,
My Mesopotamian essence,
my true vernacular.
Oh, I swear by the name of your palm trees,
Not you who brought the scourge and the plague,
Not you who brought the rapist, the murders,
Not you who raised the devils.
My love, Iraq, I want you back,
My country.