The Rape .

She was tall , beautiful and very proud .
people likened her to a luscious palm tree
generous with the sweetness of Her fruits ,
giving Her protective shade to all
Her rivers were of a deep blue
reverberating under a scorching sun,
Her mountains high and aloof ,
Her sky made of golden dust
and Her scent of, orange blossom and jasmin.
She was passionate ,
Her body riddled with
a thousand fires
at times ,
She was as hard as a desert rock
but never without Heart.
Gods, Queens, Kings and Sultans
visited Her
sat in Her presence
at times ,
hordes of lowly spirits
passed by
yet, She redressed herself
picking up the pieces
singing Her old melodies
that never tarnished .
She would hum them , silently
in the depth of Her starry night
and during the day ,
She was relentless , arduous .
She would lull, seduce and intimidate
out of reach ,
She would look in her silver mirror
and no one
had access to Her thoughts .

And one day , a barbarian landed.
the one became two ,
the two became three ,
and they multiplied.
they arrived on a cold winter's night
lecherous , salivating ,
groping in the darkness,
hands rubbing
their eyes roving ,
their erected bodies prowling
like wild beasts
excited at the smell of blood
at the smell of flesh
their senses tintillating
on the verge of shivers
about to explode .

they cornered Her ,
before sunrise
in the pitch blackness
of a velvety night

they nailed Her to the floor ,
gagged Her , slapped Her , kicked Her
broke Her bones,
then stripped Her naked
tearing Her clothes away
shredding them to pieces
unzipped themselves
and gang raped Her

one after the other ,
rushingly taking turns ,
forcefully penetrating Her
in frenzy
panting , drooling,
pouring out their lust
greed , savagery
into one climax
after another
until Her oblivion and theirs.

relieved, satisfied and content,
they spat and hastily ran
leaving Her
spread on a stone cold pavement
unconscious , bruised, naked,
drenched in semen and blood
gushing from Her Womb.

I was passing by ,
it was a rainy day .
I saw a lone stained pearl
from Her necklace
lying on ancient cobbles
I picked it up and asked
to whom does this belong ?
I was told , Her name was Iraq .

Painting by Iraqi Artist Jaber Alwan.


Anonymous said…
Dear Layla,

I am convinced that Iraq will rise from its ashes one day, when the invaders and their agents have been forced to leave.

She will stand proud again, because we are millions who love her and long for her to be what she once was.

I was not born an Iraqi, but from the moment I set foot in Iraq many years ago, I have always known that SHE is the country I love most, because of her wonderful, generous and great people.

I will carry a deep and burning wound inside me as long as she is not freed, but this will not happen until ALL her children: Arabs, Kurds, Turkmens, Chaldeo-Assyrians, Yezidis, Sabeans...
have realized that loosing her would be loosing their soul.

Iraq is like a mother, she is unique and irreplaceable.

Shias and Sunnis must unite, how can they forget that they belong to the SAME religion? Haven't they realized yet that is it some greedy politicians who are throwing them at each other's throats???

A woman who loves Iraq
Layla Anwar said…
Dear Woman who loves Iraq .

I can assure you , SHE loves you back.
Anonymous said…
i luv iraq 2

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