The Iraqi child

The larvae of light will never move in his eye,
Despite his mother clapping her hands,
And the drum throbbing, and the Udh thrumming,
And the drum burrowing down the ears of the Universe;

His legs will never unfold and run,
Despite his mother taking him in her arms,
And whirling him round the room,
With her scarf spinning, and her voice clucking,
To the Udh's throbbing, like the pulse of the Universe;

His little heart will never start growing,
Despite the voice of the Gailan singing of desert sands,
Swaying like the tresses, of bridesmaids dancing,
Their hair sifting the moonlight that is terrified of the dawn.

His body will never rise up,
Like, a mad hare dancing in Spring,
Skipping among the violin bushes,
Its teeth clicking in anticipation;

No, forever he will lie still,
His jelly eyes unmoving, when his mother
Claps her hands above him, and clucks her love,
And the drum is throbbing, and the Udh is thrumming
And Gailan calls for Justice
Down the empty arteries of the Universe.

Denis Kevans

From Green Left Weekly, December 7, 2005.

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From GLW issue 652