Far from Baghdad

The sound of marching feet
has re-taken his place as a ram
God has changed his mind
and the tears of Abraham
can accomplish nothing
The rippers have arrived! 

Lost we are
like the dromedary
in the desert of Iraq
who watches a passing
caravan of armoured cars
That water
is bought and sold
is understood
It's only that
she now serves
to wash consciences
After the grave robbers
Here are the looters of museums
How admirable progress!
The statue was beheaded
It is now but a mass
of bronze or of steel
But in the minds of men
nothing has changed
The tyrant is dead
Long live the tyrant!
Freedom leaves
us and repeats
like parrots
Gone are the old songs
Know this
freedom doles itself out

"If I do not kill you, I am doing you a favour," says an old Moroccan Morocco.
here are some snippets of wisdom that send shivers down your spine.

We only lend to the rich" a French saying goes. Adapted to Arabic slang, you would get the following: "Add more fat in to the ass of a sheep that is already overfed." Are you happy now, O translator!

We only hear talk of banning weapons of mass destruction. And those of partial destruction, what will we do about those?

In view of the human blood that is spilled in abundance every day, I am surprised that one of these companies has not had the idea to turn this into a new source of energy.

 Mass graves unearthed
at every angle
A strange sort of war booty
Next to a charred vehicle
the bodies are trampled
with smiles on their lips
Even in hatred
we have attained the grotesque
Are there assassins that are more noble than others?
So many poets have stopped here
in front of other ruins
in front of other ravages
But they at least
had only one idea in their heads
to improvise some new love songs
For every woman
that puts
or reputs the veil
it is ten years
of progress
that go up in smoke

Thirty years ago
The most full-bodied of araks
flowed in abundance
The poets gathered and fraternized
laughing up to the stars
awash in their visions
Arak is a traitor!
Somewhere around here
had his house
Aristotle was rescued from oblivion
Scheherazade come up with
the mother of all stories
The spirit is blown
ran out of breath
before succumbing
suffocated by the pollution
of the "mother of all wars"

A people can have no rights over their oppressors if it is superior to them,
orally speaking.
A cradle of humanity
Shall we agree to say
It is not surprising in this case
as in others
that predators are recruited
from this the cradle
But it seems
that the underdog is impatient
to take the place of its oppressor
to punish in their turn
those who came first
or else
against himself
Despite his high perspicacity, the great Ibn Khaldun did not understand the
wisted logic of universal History.

When morality is stretched
we must drink to the dregs
Watch the unspeakable and die
In the belly of the night
a cry rises
To go where?
The seven heavens
are sucked into the black hole
have rejoined the queue
of the helpless

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