I am an Iraqi Man E-Book

Anwer Ghani

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

I have always been interested in mutual writing, where the speaker speaks in the form of me and wants you or they or them, and speaks in the form of the absent, but he wants himself. In the reciprocal language, the souls are mixed, everything becomes anything else, the person becomes the whole and the whole becomes one. In this long poem, I adopted the reciprocal language, where the term "I" here usually refers to what we, you, he, you, she, all that or otherwise, and I rarely mean "I".

I am an Iraqi man, means he is, you are, we, it, you, they are, and all this, and Iraq means any land and the whole land.

Leseprobe

Anwer Ghani

I am an Iraqi Man

Along prose poem

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Preface

I have always been interested in mutual writing, where the speaker speaks in the form of me and wants you or they or them, and speaks in the form of the absent, but he wants himself. In the reciprocal language, the souls are mixed, everything becomes anything else, the person becomes the whole and the whole becomes one. In this long poem, I adopted the reciprocal language, where the term "I" here usually refers to what we, you, he, you, she, all that or otherwise, and I rarely mean "I".

I am an Iraqi man, means he is, you are, we, it, you, they are, and all this, and Iraq means any land and the whole land.

The poem

I AM AN IRAQI MAN

I am an Iraqi man; my life was postponed and my face was stolen by wars. I know nothing about beauty or Detain Falls.

I am an Arab man, and like you, I feel the value of life and the depth of a smile. I have family and children, and like you; I love coffee and eat eggs and cheese for breakfast.

I am a farmer from the south, and all what I carry in my pockets are oranges.

I am from here, the pain land; my father is the groaning and my mother is the weeping.

I am the war’s son; my memory was kneaded by her rugged dance and my heart colored with her gloomy soul. When the tales of the mountains ended at her cold knees, you will find me in her smoky corners with my dreadful shivering.

I am a doctor in my small town’s hospital, and in addition to this, I love the poets. The poets and the physicians are twins and they had drunk the spiritual milk from the same hopeful breast

I believe in poetry and always spend a huge effort in beseeching a paper to hang my dreams on her chest