By Muna Shubar
We are the Iraqis abroad. Iraq is kept there in our hearts, underneath the folds of our clothes, and in our travel bags. We go to the coffee shops, here and there; to drink a cup of coffee that we imagine is made of the waters of the Tigris. We always chat about cities and neighborhoods that we loved, and memories that we farewelled; we chat about their sun that diminished, and their luxurious nights that passed. We recall our memories trying to look for what we have lost, we exchange pictures, and we spread them over the tables. Our bright streets, the beautiful houses, girls, with fairly short skirts with their long legs, walking gracefully with confidence, and smiling young men with a clear image in their minds about the upcoming future. Love, harmony, and forgiveness. Then we wake up by images that are not of our Iraq, images of Baghdad that is not our Baghdad, images of another country because ours has been stolen then thrown behind high mountains and the high seas.
We grew up old while spending the time counting our dead people, counting our catastrophes, our betrayals, the varying kinds of our shame, humiliation, and piles of lies. What is left of our lives is not enough to recognize it and write it down. We have lost any hope. A dark image that we see and that gloominess knocked all the doors and conquered our hearts.
Gilgamesh went searching for the herb of life and the philosophy of death, then why his ancestors became haters of life and seekers of death and its herb? Why? Murder is the goal. Follow me in order to kill you, and if you will not do it, you will be dead any way.
Iraq has gone so far, and the dream to reach it has become corpses and bombs.
One beautiful day during November, I returned to Baghdad after long time of alienation. As soon as my feet stepped there in a land that I adored for so long I prayed loudly to walk barefooted there, to feast my eye by seeing the palm trees, to touch her people, to purge my soul from sins by washing it with the Tigris’ water. My feet silenced over her land, I flew with the anthem, and I breathed a whole field of green wheat.
Iraq, I waited you for ages, I missed you so much dad.
Like a bird caged into my eyes by years of longing. Now I step with caution and my soul leaps up of joy. Happiness and sadness are there. I cried, as I never did. They killed you my father. Destruction, darkness, and black crazy long nights where there is no day to come after, the people are lost, searching a pillow to sleep over, dreaming of dying at home.
What I did not expect happened, some hope sneaked into my soul, like a spreading spring declaring the end of winter. There were Noof on my first yard, Haider was on the second one, Mays, Sama, and Zozo were on my third. On my fourth yard, there were Karam and Zain, and the yards kept on counting, Tommy, Sabreen, Saja, Dhafir, Mohammed, Hashim, Murtadha, and many other faces were there. It was a spring hovering in the corners of the maze of my sad soul. Fingertips touching me filled with hope and love. Where did you come from my heroes? Iraqi symphony that is inspired by heavenly miracles. I felt that my spirit is flying from one planet to another, and from one language to another, how did you arrived here my heroes? I wish that the world wakes up and never to sleep. You are a long day free of night. This context has never been written before.
Your smiles break the clots of pain. Miracles feel shy before their dreams; they endure the hardies holding lots of hope in their hands. Fairy tales characters that are found only in dreams and we fear to wake up and lose them. Our fear, terror, destruction, horror, confusion, worry, isolation, and loneliness are the raw materials they use to draw an optimistic image of our future.
If it is said that there is only one phoenix for a certain era, a phoenix that rises from blazing ashes to live again, how come Iraq has thousands of phoenixes that rises from the ashes? Who said that Iraqis are surrender cowards?
Dears whom there is no one more dear than you are, we are proud of you to the bone, Iraq is our home, our land, and our kingdom, and with you I feel that we regained him. Forgive me, my words escapes me as if it had never been. I feel so humble with your company. I lost my vocabulary while trying to describe you. We started the journey, and it will complete with you, you will recollect the L, O, V, and E to be LOVE, the love that would come back to us bring unity along with it.
Today, if the Genie came to me asking about my wish, I will definitely ask to be with you this Saturday, my heart is with you, my spirit is always with you, my love is paid to you, success and luck definitely will be on your side and your friends.
Translated by: Social Media Team