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Best Iraqi Poems

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The world after thousand dawns

The  world after thousand dawns
(To an Isis fighter )
A poem by :Ali Riyadh (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by: Laith Seher
O who woke up after thousand dawn ago,
The dawns burned ,the ashes became a night .
Stand up ,close your eyes .
Seek  the newborn baby at  this  new dawn 
behind his eyelids, there lies light
Touch him , your fingers get anesthesia.
He warms your  frozen  blood .
Open your eyes , gaze at  him ,
You will see how the world  becomes colourful after thousand dawn ago without you .

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Chris Kyle the Great Sniper

Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.

Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.

Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.

At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.

Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.

After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.

A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

The dead

The dead      
 
The dead are refugees 
To an immortal caves,
Hidden in the pockets of the earth,
They are escaping from sins 
 Exhausting by the pain .
We are the dead 
But we are walking. 


  A  poem by : Saad Mohammed Al-Husseen (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by :Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Baa-lair and His Lost Sheep


There once was a leader called Blair
To the Iraqi war he declared
    Like little lost sheep
    None of his party did weep
Not one was found dead lying there

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

A Soldier's Christmas Wish

  

This year, at the holidays
of course, I miss home,
surrounded by sand dunes,
and Iraqi mosque-domes.

But I willingly came
to guard against fear—
not let terrorist conquer
everything I hold dear. 

I know my mom worries
about me over here
away from family, 
and good Christmas cheer.

And while I do miss
the fun and the fare,
I know I am fighting
for reasons most share— 

For Freedom, for Justice,
for our forefather’s plan,
for choices—God-given,
to every man. 

And for all you protester 
in the streets of your city,
looking upon me 
with hatred and pity,

I’m fighting for you 
to have that skewed right
to act like a fool—
burn our flag in plain sight,

For our children to prosper
without boot in their back,
and patriots guiding them,
to stay on the right track!

It’s not just our training,
but a true state of mind—
to be honest and faithful,
and love all mankind. 

I’d gladly lay down
all I can give—
my life and my soul
so that others may live.

And to let every man pray 
to the God he sees fit,
tho, I may not agree,
he’s entitled to it.

My sons and my daughters
may not know it yet,
but I fight for their future,
and have no regret.

So celebrate Christmas 
in your own merry way,
and please send a prayer
we’ll come home one day—

When this war is over,
we’ve finally won,
we’ve conquered the terrorists—
sent ‘em all on the run.

Americas worth it—
all this sacrifice,
and, Mom, don’t you worry
‘cause I wouldn’t think twice.

I’d do it again—
even die in the sand
for Freedom and Liberty,
for we MUST take a stand. 

“Merry Christmas—Blessed New Year,”
to all, I now say,
and, “Thank you, dear Jesus— 
have a Happy Birthday!”


           Tamara Hillman
                 ©2010

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

A Dove

A Dove
 
We said :What are  all those  feathers ?
When  we walked  for  the funeral of the kid . 
His father raised  his hand ,
 picked up a feather
 and  cried :This is the word "a dove"
He learned  to say since two days. 
we forget to take it out of his mouth .



.........................................
The poem by :Maithem Radhi (Iraqi Poet )
Translated by : Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

My song

My light doesn’t tell the truth"
except in the darkness"
This is my song ,
 during  the republic of your night .
………………………………………………


This Poem  written by : Salman Dawood Mohammed   (Iraqi Poet ) 
Translated by : Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

One Against Many

The Ancient Mariner of the parliament square
Like the mariner he was, a scrawny, skin unfair
A loner with a glittering eyes, possibly a bit touched
A Clint Eastwood impersonator look, he seemed to bear

But a powerful speaker than professional speakers.
Urging  world to live a more Christian life cleaner
Lived and slept outside the parliament for a decade
In his hand holding, with broad thrust, a loudhailer.
 
Against Western groups killing thousands Iraqi people
He fought and spoke for 3,600 days like an eagle.
Of traffic, clock bangs and the hordes of visitors.
When Haw at his mouthpiece, all the voices disabled 

Haw had a remarkably insistent, irritating voice
And Mr. David Blunkett was irked and annoyed
Reacting to 2005 organized crime And Police Act
It was “using a maul  to crack a nut” to destroy. 

The More Brian noise caused with his loudhailer
The more MPS demanded  to remove the bother
But the word “Bother” sounded too weak
Compared to warmongering by Blaire & B-liars.

 With an Antipodean woman Haw shared war choirs
With his trademark cries of “ Tony B-liar, Tony B.I.A.R”
When another woman started up, public was grateful 
Sharp as seamstress’s needle was  Sheila’ s  crisp voice. 

Despite his Left-wing  favor,  he was a Right-wing figure
A man, standing up to the state, never thought to disfigure
Brian Haw had plenty more fuel  for all his protests
The war in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq to configure.

When Milosevic  was tried  at the Hague for war crimes
He said, “why not to try Blair and Bush’s Crimes?”
Like Coleridge’s haunted mariner: long, lank & brown
He had one vice: tobacco, he died of lung cancer prime.

                                    +++
March 12, 2014
Dr. Ram Mehta
Form: Rubaiyat 
Contest: One Against Many by Joe Maverick

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Closed

Closed
Arabic Poem by: Hammoodi Al-Kinani*
Translated From Arabic
By: Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_n_silk)
=======================
 
Closed, so said the first door
Dead End, so said the second door
Don't Worry,
Sayeth all the doors!
Destitution! Destitution! Destitution!
So shouts the beggar in my face.
Drought! Drought! Drought!
So speaks the river to me.
Me ....?
I am still dancing in ecstasy,
Searching for leftover from a loaf
My mother baked in the first year of the last century;
I carry my portfolio of official documents
Containing,
A fake birth certificate,
Certificate of citizenship bearing odd digits,
Green housing card
Disclosing that I am still a Bedouin
Searching for a lost camel!
Our ration card
Does not contain, yet,
Materials quota;
It bears my name, my third, grandfather's name, 
And the doubtful surname; 
What else is there in my papers portfolio?
My permanent address
And house number
One, slash, One 
District Number One
Not inhabited with people like me
Street, haunted by mud 
And side-walks walking barefoot 
Over pedestrians walkways. 
Still wearing my father's shabby cloths,
I touched my belly to learn
How to broil hunger patties on it; 
A policeman saw me, 
He waved his whip to my face, 
"Exposing your private parts and defects is prohibited!
Your belly is a defect, 
Your unusual appearance is 
A defect,
All these papers in your portfolio are defects;
We are charged with watching 
Those who expose their defects in public."

Standing in line to receive 
Laundry detergent is a defect, 
Even scratching one's back 
Falls within the Forbidden section; 
When I felt frightened,
I went to visit my father's grave;
My mother was lying in his flank.
I prayed for my mother
And asked God his forgiveness 
For my father
For repeatedly rubbing his belly
Because of bug bites.
------
 
Translated by; EM. prof. inaam Al-Hasjimi
USA

September 23, 2009

--------------------
* Hammoodi Al-Kinani is an Iraqi writer

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

The Pistol of the Priest

The Pistol of the Priest

When the world resurrected
from a hanging hole between the thighs.
The body brought  out with  all his animals ,
The priest  brought out , 
carrying a pistol,
 surrounded by the corpses  of the roses, 
and the lamentation of the angels .
--------------------------------------------------------
A poem by : Khaled Kheshan (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by : Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

The Sea

To  whom the sea will complain
  his sorrow?
If  the gulls emigrate.



...........................................
Written by : Hussein Al-Dayani   (Iraqi Poet )  
Translated by :Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Christmas 2005 in Iraq with MiTT 2-2-2

One or two of us
Were home on leave;
For the rest of us,
Christmas came by mail.

Our callsign: Gunslingers.
Our Military Transition Team
Was embedded with 
The "Triple Deuce" Iraqi Infantry,

For a year our home
Was LSA Diamondback
Mosul, Nineveh province,
In northern Iraq

A Team member's wife
Gave us all Santa hats.
I have an old photo
Of us standing on top
Of an old Iraqi bunker,
Bearing pistols, rifles,
And those Santa hats.

My wife sent a small
Plastic Christmas tree,
Which was decorated 
In the Gunslingers' office.

My mom sent a warm quilt.
When you're acclimatized
To wearing battle armor
In the high 90s and 100s,
80-something feels cold!

I remember the nights--
Dark, but full of stars,
With Orion's belt
On the horizon.

Soldiers made bonfires
In the oddest places:
By a concrete shelter,
Or in classified burn pits.

Once exiting my office,
I saw a fire in the sky.
Soldiers were on top of a bunker
Drinking near-beer, singing.

Another night, I stood 
Just outside of the light
Looking at some troops,
And the chiaroscuro image.

I went back to my "choo",
And penciled the scene.
To complete the masterpiece,
I inserted myself
Roasting marshmallos.

I went back to visit them,
Showed them the drawing,
Then completed the picture
By searing a marshmallow.

Christmas was what we made of it.

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

The Irony of the Red Smiling Cyclops

It appeared on the doorpost as a Cyclops' smiley face
 For some Cyclops WhatsApp icon, but red-themed application
 Yes gruesome red, in contrast to the expectation
 You would get from a smiley face, even for a Cyclops.
 It quizzed my curiosity and I dug further on Google’s interface. 

It appeared on the search page as the queen Isis,
 Long told in Hieroglyphics, Cyrillic and Roman alphabet,
 Patroness, mother, queen, blessings with love met,
 But unlike these grim Arabic script in an ominous logo,
 And tales of death, pain littered with deeper crises
 
It told of “nuun”, 14th letter of a blessed script
 In which many beautiful and wise thoughts found life,
 A letter which told of blessing and not of strife
 Being in a position multiple of seven, a number blessed
 By God Himself when he Earth and Heaven in 7 breaths whipped
 
It told of the Magen David, a shining star, which should be a good thing
 Only that it brings memories of gaunt bodies piled in trucks
 And human experimentation, and as history at our door knocks
 And Isis or Isil opens to let in what we dread most
 “Nuun” is stuck in my iris with pain and scary sting. 

For I have seen the blank stare of heads painting in red drips the pickets
 And Leonidas’ 300-style gore re-enacted in modern city streets
 As heads are divorced from bodies and all around are scared heartbeats
 For even bloodied child clothes cover head-less bodies,
 As Christians are beheaded like one would roast crickets. 

It brings back memories of my ancestors up in the Samba regions,
 Fleeing the harsh choice given to them by the jihadists:
 To adorn the village picket or join the cause of the Islamist,
 Forced to create a third choice, which was to leave their homes,
 Friends and family to pseudo-Islam or lurid lethal lesions. 

Is it that time again for Iraqi Christians?
 Shall the world once again watch the Red Indians’,Tutsis’, and Jews’
 Story take gruesome form and hack through human sinews?
 How many litres of innocent blood, and kilogrammes of hacked Christian flesh
 Are needed to realise the vanity in the life of Homo sapiens? 

(c) Nyonglema

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

The Martyr Girl

The Martyr Girl
Arabic Poem by: Jasem Al-Khafaji*
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================

In your absence,
Dreariness, in every class, 
Has been the prayer of the break..
Every teacher calls your name,  
His voice falls slaughtered, in pain, on his lips..
In every standing and every sitting, 
Your class condoles with your desk..
Without you there, the schoolyard feels empty 
The bell sounds strangled as it tolls for you..
Oh, grief of all schools!
Oh, weariness of all lessons!
Too young to be gone..
Your mother wished to see you a bride..
Vacant was your stand in the lines and rows
For the flag ceremony
And, silently, 
The flag was raised..
The blackboard is missing your words
Saddened with no words to spell
“Dar” … “Door” 
Oh, grief! 
When your braid caught fire,
The kids tried to put it off with your bookcase
Their hands were too small to carry water..
May God help your mother.. 
Your mother, who, in her grief, turned white, 
Like daylight upon your coffin
Your mother, who, with slaps of grief,
Drew skipping squares on her cheeks
Your mother, who raised your hand in prayer to God
Your mother, who used to come to get you,
 At the end of the school day
Your mother, who, not even once,
Received a teacher’s note complaining about you
Your mother, who is wrapping ribbons
Around your pictures 
In madness after you
God help your mother, who, in her grief, 
 Turned white like daylight upon your coffin..

O God, May all bombs be paralyzed,
And all blasts be blinded!
----------------------------------------
* Jasem Al-Khafaji is a poet from Iraq,
The poem is in Iraqi folks spoken dialect

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

A Toy

The dead  woman hugs  a dead child,
The dead child hugs a toy ,
Which has two lives.


Written by :  Amenah Mahmood , Iraqi Poet 
Translated by : Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Bush(it)!

This one goes out to you, Mr. President

This one goes out to you, and your wonderful regime of terror spread 
enthusiastically around the world. Policing the entire planet is a tough job, 

Mistah
President,

and there is no doubt in my mind that you enjoy your job and the 
rewards of virtue you receive after killing millions of innocent civilians.  Bursting 
with honor at the tax breaks to the top
 2%
 of the richest and plunging the poverty 
stricken into darkness. Oh, the integrity of looking the other way while your friends 
eradicate the true meaning of Global Warming. 
 It must be hard on the conscience to profiteer off your nation, Mr. President, you 
have such an 

admirable, strong resolve.
 
I especially enjoy your philosophy of treating your administration like a blanket. 
Soothing the world to a vegetable like drone, oblivious to the surroundings. Like 
an eiderdown quilt, don’t forget to tuck in the corners, for fear that Israel might 
catch a cold. Singing Saddam lullabies and then smothering Iraqi babies in their 
sleep.

Like a petroleum induced  reverie, you spill
 America’s blood for oil, dousing the infidels. 
Slicing freedom of speech to slivers and hiding the dirty laundry. Fighting 
off hate with more hate and thus utterly eliminating any source of salvation to our 
state and situation.  What a wonderful world you have created. And for your hard 
work and determination to drive America to it’s knees, I dedicate this one to you. 
To you and your determination to infiltrate America's existance with blunders, 
corruption, and deceit.
To you and your serial betrayals of the people hand in hand with credit card, drug, 
banking, and energy industries.  
To you and your cynical manipulation of all that is American, to your lacking 
administration, to you and your Big Companies. 
This one, goes out to you, Mr. President. 





God Bless America.

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Children

A child with one leg , 
a child with one arm, 
a child with one eye   
and a child with one lever  were gathering  there ,
near their organs
Which became the fifth child underground  .
________________________________
The poem by : Qasim Saoodi(An Iraqi Poet) , translated by :Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

The coat

The coat
At the time before daybreak, 
I didn’t   know, 
Why did  I remember Gogol?
It was  my body  oozed females . 

The poem by :Nabeel   Al-Jabri  (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by : Laith Seher

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Annihilation

Norman Wisdom, ninety-five, the comic actor dies in his sleep;
That is an exception, making headlines when violent ends have become the norm.
Bobby Sands, an IRA militant, died in prison, on hunger strike,
Baha Mousa, innocent Iraqi, died in custody, tortured, in chains.

Six million Jews of all ages, died in gas chambers - the Nazi Holocaust.
Two world wars of the recent past saw untimely massacre of many millions;
Hiorshima, Nagasaki, A-bombed victims were civilians, 
Yet all world religions proscribe taking the lives of fellow human beings. 

Death is demeaning to all who succumb, unless from age or natural cause,
Technology advances in geometric progression inflaming mankind's lust to kill;
Today's art and entertainment glorify extremes of violence and crime,
The end of the planet cannot be far off, as collective hatred explodes at will.

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

Why do you curse me

If killing is a problem solving key.
Believe me I shall also try to flee.
We killed thousands in 9/11,
We killed thousands in Iraqi sandy cabin.
We are killing thousands in Afghan War,
We trained to kill/die in Pakistan’s shore.
Do we try to learn a lesson?
God will keep us in heaven a religious fashion.
Arab will die to live on Earth,
What was truth before Lord Mohammed’s birth?
Lord Jesus Christ was born Christian,
What’s wrong in Jews living fun?
Mohammed and Jesus they played on soil,
They roasted their jobs to sweat boil.
They never sit idle and demand food free from God,
They never used to win human a religious rod,
They were polite and shared their views,
They never threw on wrong their shoes.
Conversation was their only tool to use,
Let me know whom they have abuse.
Forgiveness and mercy, they produced a shield,
They grazed their sheep on the earth field.
Do they ask God they shall give a shelter in Heaven?
They will punish that hit by a Robin.
What’s in Quran or a Bible?
Go to Heaven and kill a human tribal.
I learnt a message,’ how to live on Earth’.
That’s why Nature has our human birth.
A religious philosophy is superb,
If it cut my poverty curb.
I work and work to pay off the bills,
And always crying what are politics hells?
Wrongs and wrongs never learn a lesson,
To kill innocents for their outrageous fashion.
To compromise to strengthen crime,
To corrupt nature to share a winning ham. 
If hell or heaven is also a living space,
Then why we have a new Mars race.
If heaven has a better living home,
Then why have a human dilemma of innocence trauma.
Something is wrong in human brain,
Lives in tense and talking about strain.

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

The city of Dahuk

 Near the northern end 
Of the Tigris river valley
Is the city of dahuk
Next to the boarder of turkey

A city of many fruit orchards
A popular tourist destination
Has a fruit canning plant
The supply the whole nation

With palm tress on both sides
Of the streets in straight  lines
And in this beautiful city dahuk 
Lives a very good friend of mines

The most peaceful city in Iraq
Where the grass are so green
With two chains of mountains
So many histories to be seen

From the clef mountain gully zawita
Bamarny and suara tuga resorts
 Modern casino, in the middle of gardens
Wit a combination of culture and sports

To The happy children playing
In the garden of dream city
To the AMADIYA ANTIQUE CASTLE
A place of so many things to see

There is a girl with great smile
Going to but candy and sweets
She is so kind and friendly
 Bringing joy to all she meets

And all her friends love her
From a round the world
She’s just the kindest person
With a real heart of gold

I have two friends from Iraq
They are beautiful smart and clever
I respect them like my sisters
And hope to be their friend forever

I hope one day to meet them
In the heart of an Iraqi town
We will go and have of ice cream
And talk until the sun goes down

In the city of dahuk
A place of pure magical beauty 
 Lives the most beautiful girl
In the world to me

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

For in a Doorway Lies

On an Iraqi street
Its all quiet and calm
The way it should be
Without the tyrants palm

Kids are playing
American marines patrol
They don't want to be there
But peace is their goal

A sudden silence
Greets the street
Then all hell breaks loose
Every one falls to their feet

An explosion so powerful
In neighbourhood shake
An all mighty blast
Delivered by mans earthquake

Shrapnel zips
And pings through the air
Voices in scream
Faces in blood run stare

The dust and debris
Drifts all around
As the marines rise
One hears, a crying sound

He follows the cries
For in a doorway lies
A boy of two
In bloodied apply

His small frame
Sodden of red
Lacerations aplenty
On the road to dead

The blanket he clutched
In crimson soak
This soldier, marine
In tear filled choke

He gently lifts
This fragile child
Another innocent casualty
As another war smiles

Sadly, there will be others
Through the months and years
When war will still smile
And ignore all the tears




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-4.php

Details | Iraqi Poem | |

BAZOOKA JOE IS GUM

WESSON
GIVES A LESSON
WITH   A   .357
DAVID SLINGS A ROCK
COP HOLSTERS A GLOCK
LIZZY BORDEN PACKS AN AXE
MAC HE PACKS THE KNIFE
BILLY BATTLES WITH A CLUB
TOMMY’S GUN IS A SUB
KELLY’S GOT ONE TOO
BAZOOKA JOE IS GUM
PETER GUNN IS NOT
COLT .45 IS NOT MALT
NOR IS IT A HORSE
HORSESHOES AND
HAND GRENADES
CANONS HAVE BIG BALLS
DOC HOLIDAY HAD TB
ROCK HUDSON HAD HIV
NATILIE WOOD DON’T FLOAT
NATILIE HOLLAWAY DON'T FLOAT
THE TITANIC BOAT DON'T FLOAT 
JAMES DEAN CRASHED HIS CAR
HANK WILLIAMS CRASHED HIS BAR
DIRTY HARRY HAD THE BIGGEST
THE DERRINGER IS SMALLEST
CAIN MURDERED HIS BROTHER
JULIETTE DRANK POISON FOR HER LOVER
JIM JONES KILLED WITH COOL-AID
SLASHING WRISTS WITH A BLADE
BOW AND ARROW KILLS THE SAME 
AS BONNIE OR CLYDE BARROW
CHARLES MANSON IS ALIVE
MICHAEL JACKSON IS NOT
IRAQI RULER WITH A ROPE
JOHN BELUSHI  TOO MUCH DOPE
SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL IS ORDINARY
FAST AND FURIOUS IS THE CRIME
PIRATE VICTIMS WALK THE PLANK
THINK! NEXT TIME I”LL BRING A TANK
HEAR THE WHISTLE OF MY MISSILE?
AFTER THAT WHAT DO YOU BET?
I’LL COME FLYING IN A FIGHTER JET
SMOKEY BEAR’S RIGHT TO “BEAR” ARMS
OR  DID  WE  JUST  ARM  BEARS?
NEVER STIFLE MY RIFLE
THIS IS MY RIFLE THIS IS MY GUN
ONE FOR FIGHTING ONE FOR FUN
CADENCE…
BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG
RELOAD
MOLON LABE
COME AND TAKE THEM
THE ONLY WAY FREEDOM OF SPEECH WORKS
IS BECAUSE THE 1st AMENDMENT 
IS BACKED BY THE 2nd AMENDMENT

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Best Iraqi Poems

The Most Vulnerable

A Glimpse of Humanity

The world after thousand dawns

Chris Kyle the Great Sniper

The dead

Baa-lair and His Lost Sheep

A Soldier's Christmas Wish

A Dove

My song

One Against Many

Closed

The Pistol of the Priest

The Sea

Christmas 2005 in Iraq with MiTT 2-2-2

The Irony of the Red Smiling Cyclops

The Martyr Girl

A Toy

Bush(it)!

Children

The coat

Annihilation

Why do you curse me

The city of Dahuk

For in a Doorway Lies

BAZOOKA JOE IS GUM