Poem: the tale of Shakir al- Juaan

Poem: the tale of Shakir al- Ju aan
Poet: Yahya al- Samawi - Iraq
Translation: Freeyad Ibrahim



( Shakir al- Ju aan was one of the Iraqi fearless rebels during the mass uprising in Assamawa in the year 1991..he was among those who burst into the security office of the entombed old regime ..he refused to flee Iraq afther the uprising had failed, as a result, he was captured and brutally turtured before being executed.)

When he fell pierced with the bullets
He tumbled down from the foot
up towards the top
Till he became the flagpole of the national flag !
And for the killer
He has fallen from above the ladder of his arrogance
right down into the well of the sin
stained with the dirt of shame and disgrace
Cursed from all sides.
Whilst shakir alju an is now bathing
With the prayers buchur, incense
there above in the heights
**
I am in need of a whip to become a flagellant
I need a plate and a pavement to become a beggar..
And in order to carry the scarlet letter I demand but
human wolves to tear the children s flesh
and knives that noch the mothers nipples
Altogether with a vast space of vice and villainy !
And in order to be a despot
I need the things mentioned.
Besides I have to let fall from my forehead
the last drop of shame ..
and from my heart the last pulse of mercy ..
And from the field of my manhood
the last herb of honor ..
But if I strive to be a patriotic one
Then I have to have a home and a people
for whom I ll fight until I meet martyrdom.
Thus was speaking Shakir al- Ju an ".
Even though he didn t attend a class,
Neither did he read a single secrete pamphlet
Nor did he try to become a fatherk,
For he remained child even when he borderd his fiftieth.
When he fell bloodstained with the love for Iraq
and rolled down from the toe to the top !
With the naivety of a wise child , he was saying:
We shouldn t hang our guns in the armoury,
be content with what we have already achieved tonight ..
For the temporal contentment is none but one of the cowardice mask
and the contentment is the numbness of the revolutionary all set to swoop.
And if we librated the land from the tyrants and idols,
Then it is our duty to purify the space from their smoke and smolder, my fellow.
Our land, pregnant with fountains,
widends to accommodate new fields and farms.
We possess forearms and shovels of our own,
and vast territories of will and confidence..
So let us awaken the fountains from their sleep,
Let the forests rise up sky high...
The forests which repel the heat and the yellow winds.
Then go and grasp your pickaxe
if you
are not able to carry the gun !

NOTE:
This poem is translated from Arabic and was first published in Alnoor Center

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