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Poem No.: 21 النص العربي: لا يوجد

Whenever a dictator falls

from history’s throne, studded with our tears

My palms burn from applause.

But as soon as I return home

And switch on the television,

Another dictator spews out

Of the mouths of the crowds, inflamed by whistles and cheers

…Drowning in laughter

At my naivete,

My eyes burn with tears.



Baghdad, 29 June, 1992

Garden of the Association of Historians


(Sadhaja – page 43)

from the collection, Under a Strange Sky (Taht sama’ ghariba)

published by Bazzaz Publishing (London), 1994


Translation by Nancy A. Coffin

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