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By Zhawen Shali
The girls of my village
Were sizzling the sunflower seeds
Because of the disappearance of the sun
They were taking empty pots to the spring water
And narrating the decisiveness of water to the water
And used to get back with a handful of shy kisses
They pass the entire spring and under their beds with it
Without any song.
The girls in my village used to plot their long hair
Have pink dreams
About the unknown day of their weddings
They used to walk the foot walks towards the water springs
And
They used to bombard the village by dreams
By their eternal imaginations
O’ the wounds of the elegant girls of my village.
In wars
Things are against things
Ingredients are against Ingredients
Since soil was placing the
Bodies of Anfal deep down into the wholes
The wind was taking away pieces of clothes
Up deep into the sky
When the war started
Our village’s women covered themselves with black
They squeezed their black clothes
And their black fates together
This was a very first source of a grape juice
Wars have taken away
The girl’s virginity
It prolonged the distance between the wound
And the body
It brought the sentences of immigration and eeriness together
It ripped the white colour of joy worshipers
When the war started
My father has hidden all the books in a hole
After the war
He, until the end of time
Lie down next to his books.
In a war
The front of every house were
Washed with blood,
Now is washed with fog
When we came back from the war
We all have chanted freedom
In one voice,
Later
A piece after piece
We have cut ourselves
Over the holiness of the war
The war works gracefully
It does not exclude any of us
It does not upset anyone
It sprinkles its curse
From everybody’s sky.
In the mornings
It rises before the sun
It twists the door handles
Of all doors and windows
It leaves its victims
In the alleys and streets
Before the arrival of the cleaners
It accomplishes its work in the dark
Just like a bat.
Women and war
Look like a memory of snow and charcoal
It looks like a memory of uncoloured lips and rust
War is taking away the sunshine
And leaves behind long nights
It turns language off
And leaves no meaning for definition.
Note:
This poem is a part of wide poetic project specialised in war and its tragedies on human beings, at the same time is a special part to return to peace and coexistence.
Translated by Abbas Boskani