Author's Note
In February 1258, the Mongol army led by Hulagu Khan sacked Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid Caliphate. It marked the end of the Islamic Golden Age. Libraries like the House of Wisdom were destroyed, and countless books were thrown into the Tigris River until the water ran black with ink and red with blood. Scholars, artists, and civilians were killed. The destruction ended centuries of science, medicine, and philosophy, and showed what happens when cruelty replaces knowledge and forgiveness.
When Baghdad Wept-CM
Cruel hooves marched, and cities bled,
Cold steel struck, and scholars fled.
Wisdom burned while rivers ran,
Words turned ash in Tigris span.
Mercy slept while towers fell,
Golden age was lost to hell.
Yet kindness waits in hearts to rise,
Forgiveness blooms in humankind eyes.
BAGHDAD, BOB, AND PETE
HISTORY DOES NOW REPEAT
THE TRUTH THEY BOTH CHEAT
(Tree speaks to thief)
They chopped off my upper limbs, to shed more light on the lower
As they will amputate those hands, now your light fingers grow slower
Wisdom from Trees Poetry Contest
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21/05/22
THE FALL OF BAGHDAD
What rite of passage, moves one to the light,
and through the healing of all earthly ail,
bestows this breath of life, to make it right,
Oh Babylon, 'tis time for life to fail.
Harm thee no thing, no spirit in the sky,
nor any beast, nor fowl who's meant to flyl
In algebric expression, your unknown,
will show the spirit world we fail to see,
Your recognizing from your flowers grown
In Poppy fields, your highs not meant to be.
We've paid the price, for all to bear your sin
And left you with no peace you have to win.
Each algebric expression drives us mad,
now your unknown is where we have to hide,
it matters not your ending will be sad,
Scheherazade may dance, but she has lied.
The streets of Baghdad--Babylon's decay
Are made to waste, they will not have their day.
No Shamanistic eye can bear your weight,
nor transforms what you've been to other things,
and when you see the truth, it's all in hate
that brings the end, of which all life now sings.
Witch Doctors all have read bones all the same,
Is this our end, and Babylon's to blame?
© ron wilson arbuthnot aka
Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Her bridges are in school textbooks,
Her dead are numbers in the papers.
Every tourist wears black.
In a dream, I visited her once too;
I saw a friend drinking his tears
In a tea-cup, and he smiled.
I saw a crow that covered the clouds
with its wings and I saw a graveyard
in the garden of Maydan. So where
are the poets, and the photographs, Fairuz?
This is Tigris sleeping on a stretcher,
Besieged by soldiers and wishes.
And when I crossed the bridge to Rusaffa,
The search point spat in face.
I was woken by a shot to the head.
THE FALL OF BAGHDAD
What rite of passage, moves one to the light,
and through the healing of all earthly ail,
bestows this breath of life, to make it right,
Oh Babylon, tis time for life to fail.
Harm thee no thing, no spirit in the sky,
nor any beast nor fowl who's meant to flyl
In algebric expression, your unknown,
will show the spirit world we fail to see,
Your recognizing from your flowers grown
In Poppy fields, your highs not meant to be.
We've paid the price, for all to bear your sin
And left you with no peace you have to win.
Each algebric expression drives us mad,
now your unknown is where we have to hide,
it matters not your ending will be sad,
Scheherazade may dance, but she has lied.
The streets of Baghdad--Babylon's decay
Are made to waste, they will not have their day.
No Shamanistic eye can bear your weight,
nor transforms what you've been to other things,
and when you see the truth, it's all in hate
that brings the end, of which all life now sings.
Witch Doctors all have read bones all the same,
It is our end, and Babylon's to blame.
Willy was a thief of Baghdad
One night he stole a pen from dad
Dad called the police
Willy looked owlish
Poo-tee-weet-too he vanished so sad
THIEF OF BAGHDAD: LIMERICK /Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY 11/17/2014
*Bombs over Baghdad (The Urban Wars Collection)
No smiling eyes as misery lights the night sky
Cracked picture frames show a fallen dictator exuding pride
Toppled statues of triumph crumble seeking refuge underground
with none to be found
The dagger was too close to the heart to survive
Bombs over Baghdad
Repression lifts as the bombs drop down
POW's MIA's torture and terror are the order of the day
War and more war, and more and more...
Who pays the price when the stakes are so high?
Who even keeps the score of all the unsung souls?
Lost forever and ever
Who really wins?
Us versus them again and again
Someone will ultimately win in the end
And be proclaimed the all time war machine
Unfortunately...No one will be left to claim the prize
*This poem was written approximately 3 yrs before Saddam Hussein's execution.
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THE FALL OF BAGHDAD
What rite of passage, moves one to the light,
and through the healing of all earthly ail,
bestows this breath of life, to make it right,
Oh Babylon, tis time for life to fail.
Harm thee no thing, no spirit in the sky,
nor any beast nor fowl who's meant to flyl
In algebric expression, your unknown,
will show the spirit world we fail to see,
Your recognizing from your flowers grown
In Poppy fields, your highs not meant to be.
We've paid the price, for all to bear your sin
And left you with no peace you have to win.
Each algebric expression drives us mad,
now your unknown is where we have to hide,
it matters not your ending will be sad,
Scheherazade may dance, but she has lied.
The streets of Baghdad--Babylon's decay
Are made to waste, they will not have their day.
No Shamanistic eye can bear your weight,
nor transforms what you've been to other things,
and when you see the truth, it's all in hate
that brings the end, of which all life now sings.
Witch Doctors all have read bones all the same,
It is our end, and Babylon's to blame.
© ron wilson
Moving toward the absurd as war in Baghdad goes on,
along with the print traffic jam and airwaves;
continues to unfold horror stories, deaths: a tinku
that spew out of Iraq – the ancient Middle East sand.
Skepticism has drawn a timely relevance,
that predicts the future as a major stand;
sending troops in the combat zone, a 50/50 case
either a winning or losing in the battle ground.
Like a cacophany of voices across the land,
So deep and lugubrious that pervades –
‘enough! we’re helpless and marginalized’
a reflection that’s claims stop and be reconciled.
The steady stream of U.S. young soldiers
being sent to fight and be part of the plan
adds sinews to war but not a total assurance
where success can be at hand or defeat in the long run.
Antiwar sentiments hover like a gospel cry,
with globalized reactions bonded with supplications;
a great deal of struggles among people of cultures,
that someday peace will reign and sing glory to God on high.
Baghdad Redux
I saw Quinn again tonight,
first time in years, sailing the streets,
weaving through people,
collar up, head cocked,
arms like telephone poles sunk
in the pockets of his overcoat,
the brilliant pennants of his long red hair
waving over the stadium
where years ago he took my handoff,
bucked off guard, found the free field,
and heaved like a bison into the end zone.
Tonight, when Quinn wove by me muttering,
I should have handed him the ball.
I should have screamed, “Go, Quinn, go!”
He would have stiff-armed the lamppost,
found the free field again,
left us all in his wake to gawk
as he hit the end zone
and circled the goal posts,
whooping and laughing,
flinging the ball like a spear
over the cross-bar, back to Iraq.
Donal Mahoney
Sleepless in my room,
The sound of constant thunder
And a ceaseless wind;
Even the stars are weeping
As vengeance consumes the sky.
Jim Wilson
A disturbed place of no peace,
where people still reside, despite running away.
Whom still want to live the way of life,
the way they've been doing, each and every day.
The cowards that hides amongst them,
hinders the continuance, of their life, to go on.
Forcing their agenda, upon these folks,
so their way of life, can truly be gone.
Afraid are they not, of existing,
in being surrounded, of this trapping of fear.
Holding on, to what is precious to them,
even thou the danger, for all, is still near.
Realizing for the sake of their children,
for them, the fight for everyday, must proceed.
Or else their children, will never see,
the life once lived, not being able, to ever succeed.
So with the help from many countries,
in retrieving, the life of dwelling, in constant peace.
These people are tired, and taking stand,
to live every day, without, this terrorizing beast.
Whirling wings launching into liftoff,
propelling quickly through a changing sky.
A loud sound, so extremely familiar,
heard by all, when it, comes flying by.
A battle buddy, in a soldier's horizon,
from the sky, to directly assist.
Becoming the hawk, for us soldiers,
letting us know, when the enemy, will exist.
Equip to establish, extreme fire power,
an added strength, for soldiers below.
Plenty of room to transport, and treat causalities,
whom to a hospital, they therefore go.
No matter the time, that's approaching,
around the clock, they're, always there.
Doing their duty, like the convoys,
but doing it, while they're, up in the air.
Arms raised high.
Fists tight, to the sky.
Head thrust back, teeth clenched.
The rain pouring down, overhead.
The lightening flashes, thunder crashes.
Tears washed away, by deluge and spray.
I am bruised and bleeding everywhere.
Eyes bloodshot, a fixed stare.
I shout out loud.
HELP I DIE.
No one listens to my cry.
Is this the end, of all my dreams?
Love and hope, finished it seems.
I was promised happiness, if I was good.
This promise has not stood.
The Devil has his way.
Pain, and death, have there sway.
I have been beaten, tortured and shot.
Humanity they had not.
The wrong place I came.
So was ready game.
In Baghdad, this is the way.
They treat you today.
....................................
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