Top of the Iraqi Mound

By David Lawrence Cade

 April 12, 2004

Elder of a tribe, atop the shoulders of the young.
They belong, then, to the sect of reformers
Sceptics, moderates absurd in their middle ground,
 Miserable between extremes of fools who alike
Would deny movement – movement of the mind,
Or movement of the occupied land toward its own legacy

 

Truly an aged alternative,
Known to distinguish
Between the light of the sun
And the shadows of night

 

Of a revelation,
Of all the peace
Unity shouting -
Disunity shedding blood

 

Praiseworthy to one, ridiculous to another,
For within the blinking of an eye -
The same, assuming a different appearance,
Minarets of Samarra and Kadimiyah at sunrise,
Cones of pink light -
At sunset, missiles of a darkened hue
In the star-illuminated Arabian horizon

 

Salam, mumim,
Solving the problem
Of their true nature.
Disappearances are the only realities
Recognized by the occupying forces in Iraq

 

La ilah illa Allah Ruh Allah.

 

Sabr, Shukr
The domes of the mosques illuminous,
But the nature of preemptive war
Is unknown to me.

 

Iman, Akbar,
They feel the fires of the twenty-one day
March to the capital,
The arsons of their great libraries
Burning in their minds since a year now,
Prohibited from entering Firdos Square.
I do not know how or why.
The lone tank in Firdos square yesterday,
Loud speaker in Arabic -
Threats to anyone in the open with a gun.
America has committed arson
On the Iraqi mind.

 

He sits at prayer calling the interviewer, “My friend,”
And “You understand me badly.”
It is indifferent to the Coalition
Whether they are understood one way or the other.
The nature of the greater serpent in Iraq
Is known to us now,
And it is the Coalition.

 

Once more we ask, as they race to bury their dead
In a football field, and chaos ensues,
“Why do you live on dates and onions in the desert?”

 

Why do they endure great hardships?
There are blessings lost in ignorance of sacred mysteries.
I would see peace return at once among the people of Iraq.
To the old man in a checkered turban,
Riding atop the shoulders of the young,
Their faces shrouded from view,
Facing the impudent monkey tricks from America troops
Who smear the walls of Baghdad with Iraqi blood
Leaving untouched for now the murals
Of a clever artist
Of holy men of reason
And clerics besotted with anger.

 

Zeal for the truth has carried Iraq
Beyond proper bounds.
It resembled a liberation only for a moment
Caught on camera,
A bronze toppled
In a video surnamed victory.
But it turned out the threat of Iraq was not so gross
As statesmen claimed,
Statesmen of no great vision

 

The generals speak of Fallujah
With violence and indignation,
But the old man remains unmoved.

 

Al-a!raaf, al Nuur –

 

They had two Gulf Wars,
Like ships stranded in the desert.
As for a revolution, if it happens,
I doubt that it will follow the wisdom
Of the eldest insurgent,
White beard, forward-looking, aloft,
Atop the shoulders of the young.

 

Earth, a planet hungry for peace

The Israeli apartheid (security) wall around Palestinian population centers (Ran Cohen, pmc, 5/24/03).

The Israeli apartheid (security) wall around Palestinian population centers in the West Bank, like a Python. (Alquds,10/25/03).