We can smell all the perfumes of ruinations because we are the sons of war. Its eyes kill our dreams and its hands clap our cheeks. When you walk in our streets, you will tumble by our cheap souls and at that dark corner you will meet the faceless boys. Yes, we are sons of wars; our hands are empty and our souls are broken. The waterfalls can’t moisten our dry hearts, and the river can’t revive our rocky roots.
No braid on our girls’ heads because war has stolen everything here every the girls’ braids. Their lips are dry with deep fissures and their faces and colorless like our days. Here, in Iraq everything is empty even the souls of the girls. You won’t see the childish jumps of their feet or the playing smiles of their arms, but you will see thin legs and a very dry well.
I am from the south where everything weeps even the sun. Our women don’t know but crying and their breasts had forgotten milk. They are the remnants of wars; their mornings start with wailing and their evenings end with groan. Look at our trees; they are brassy and coarse like the voice of our women and look at our lakes, they are dry like their cheeks. No love here because the lips have retired, and no beauty here because our women are faceless.
Anwer Ghani is an Iraqi poet, essayist and artist. He was born in 1973 in Hilla. His name has appeared in many literary magazine and anthologies and he have won many prizes, the last one; “World Laureate-Best Poet in 2017 from WNWU”. Anwer writing has a specific style; the expressive narrative prose poetry” and he is the author of “Narratopoet”; (2017), “Antipoetic Poems”; (2017) and other 40 books. He is the chief editor of Arcs prose poetry magazine and the founder of Tajdeed Institute for Art and Literature.