Best Baghdad Poems
We were accustomed to read one thousand
And one night in Baghdad...
Tonight the glorious city-sky is sad,
It sounded bang! Bang
Where is my mummy? Where is my dad?
Are they all alive under the cruise wreckage;
Or are they all dead?
The a ‘Rashid city was weeping,
It rained hatred,
It rained prejudiced,
It rained cactus of different shapes,
They're all aliens,
Some were homemade,
They're all colourful,
In blue, in yellow and in red.
Do you still remember brother?
Because if you don't I still do
What the big Satan, Lucifer what he said!
The cross versus the crescent, take it or leave it,
An entire racism by the media was also fed.
Some hidden in a banker,
Others crawling of hunger,
Others demonstrating with anger,
Pale, yellowish faces they all looked bad.
Where is my nation..My Arabity..My Islam ?
Oh...Mutasamahh! Where are my brothers?
Are they all dead???
They called it precise bombing and it was right indeed,
In the heart of the baby-heart
Like the British game of dart,
The arrow hit its target,
It hit it like mad.
Nobody moves a finger,
In the age of Patriot and Stinger,
They all believe in star-wars, economic prosperity,
They all believe in the Pope, pop-star singer,
They all believe that one-day Allah would side with them to defeat,
The neo-Thamud and Aad,
They're all waiting for the coming future Mahdi,
And for the Armageddon battle to be led.
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
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
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.
Check out our library of e-books @www.amazon.com in the kindle store, or visit:www.booktango.com
authors website:apluszips.com
Thanks and pass it forward!
As the wind blows across
The deserts in Baghdad
There’s a little girl in Jordan
Picking fruits in an orchard
In the back yard of her home
In another far away country
When war came to the Iraq
She left Baghdad with her family
Many had to leave their homes
They have known all their lives
Moving to other countries
Becoming refugees just to survive
Baghdad is the largest city in Iraq
And the second largest in Arab world
Its fill with historical majestic beauty
Of which many Arabian tales are told
The city of Baghdad stands
On the banks of the Tigris river
With the four surrounding walls
Khurasan, Damascus, kufa, and Basra
The war bring destruction to Baghdad
It now fills with blood and tears
But the city and its people are resilient
They been doing it for thousands of years
These are some dark days in Iraq
All because of the world greed for oil
But as long as the Iraqi flag fly’s
One day Peace will return to the Iraqi soil
She misses her home country
To feel the sand under her feet
With the eternal quiet of stars
And the Iraqi desert heat
She keeps Iraq in her heart and soul
And she hopes to go back one day
To the streets of Baghdad
Where with her brothers she use to play
She sits with her mom and brothers
At the table for dinner tonight
While in Iraq the Tigris River
Reflects the Baghdad moon light
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.
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
(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
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
21/05/22
The people seem calm, yet tension is everywhere.
We know it is the intention
Of the Americans to attack today.
War has been declared, it is coming our way.
The night has just started when the sirens wail.
Baghdad is assailed
With missiles setting the city on fire.
A show of might. A show of American ire.
Missiles coming wave after wave.
The tracer bullets cannot save
The city from destruction.
Buildings centuries in construction
Are engulfed in flames, soon to be a tangled mess
Of rubble, and smoldering nothingness.
The missiles make the city glow
With the flashes and bangs of a fireworks show.
A show, of a magnitude never seen before
Not in any country, or far distant shore.
Flames of orange, yellow, and red
Light buildings, kindling dread.
Explosions of fire and light
Bright as the Sun, make daylight out of night.
Smoke, rising high in the sky
Black, grey and white, so pleasing to the eye.
Oh! What a spectacular night in Baghdad.
Except, it is so bad.
There is no dawn
The fires of the night mingle with the morn.
Night and day is a smoke filled zone
Hovering over the city’s destruction
.
The light of fires had turned night into day,
Now the blackness of the smoke chases the sun away.
Slowly Baghdad stirs, for we work by the clock.
Our eyes fill with sorrow, as we see our city in shock.
Our tears have anger too,
But what can we do?
Our only hope is that this war should end quickly
With little bloodshed or brutality
So we can live in peace
When the fighting has ceased.
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.
....................................
Determined though scared, I walk my beat,
On the deadly streets of Baghdad.
Searching for any who plot our harm,
Or by our death are joyous and glad.
Standing in shadows caused by the moon,
I'm reminded of my nights back home.
I wonder if the woman I love
Is growing tired of sleeping alone?
I feel remorse for all who live here,
For this place is a madman's hell.
And those who wish to keep it that way
Must be killed or locked away in jail.
My greatest fear is not my death,
But that I'll end up in a wheelchair.
Disabled for the rest of my life,
Depending on others for my care.
My wife, she prays for my safe return,
As night and day more GI's are killed.
She knows quite well, whatever it takes,
The oath I've given will be fulfilled.
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.
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.