A poem written during the sanctions in the 1990s.
And the sanctions are really very important
and are forgotten, because they contributed
to much of the destruction of Iraqi society.
So people always wonder why is what's happening happening.
I advise them to look back at that decade,
and then things will become clearer.
And as with these kinds of things, the most vulnerable
are the ones who pay the heaviest price.
So this poem is entitled "To An Infant."
Do you know that your mother's nipples
are dry bones, that her breasts are
bursting with depleted uranium?
Do you know that the womb's window
overlooks a confiscated land?
Do you know that your tomorrow has no tomorrow,
and that your blood is the ink of new maps?
Do you know that your mother is weaving
the slowness of her moments into an elegy,
and she's already mourning you?
Don't be shy, your funeral is over.
The tears are dry, and everyone's gone.
Come forward.
It's only a short way.
And don't be late, your grave is looking at its watch.
Don't be afraid.
We'll arrange your bones whichever way
you want and leave your skull like a flower on top.
Come forward.
Your many friends await.
And there are more every day.
Your ghosts will play together.
Come on.