People throwing dinars
at the belly-dancers,
in a sad circus
beside a trench of burning oil.
People throw belongings,
a life-time’s earnings,
amongst the scattered rubbish
and suitcase on the sidewalk.
Date palms, orange
and tangerine trees,
and eyes are crying
for everything.
I talked to an old man
by the generator,
standing on the gravel
by the fetid river.
He turned to me,
then surveyed the scene,
said, war is here
in our beloved city.
Some dove in the river
and tried to swim away
through 10,000 tonnes of sewage,
fate written on their foreheads,
date palms, orange
and tangerine trees,
and eyes were crying
for everything.