tears in millions for whole iraq

8/9/2019 Tears in Millions for Whole Iraq

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" stranger" ,

..

.

Be no rude , ever, to someone who is already a stranger

The whole world is already insulting him thru humiliation and

plights "

And yes in deed, the whole life is sure to rebuke any immigrant

through it all , what a humiliation! , and what a plight is all that

inflicted upon Iraq next to your era , you who were a true Imam

for all Muslims , yet, never made to rule the scene by then .

The whole world is rebuking us , me and my fellow brothers and

sisters, with all forms of humiliation that we had never beenaccustomed to. I am hailing you right from the depth of my

heart which knows for sure who you are, honestly speaking .

I felt tranquil at heart as I sat there, in front of the mosque ,at

that most favorable spot of mine , compared to whole Ankara's ,

our souls favors some places over others, you know. I guess it is

the tranquility of this place, rather than any attributed

architecture , or the extreme height of minarets almost piercingthe skies above, as if bleeding them to the colors of dusk . Even

the splendor of the spherical chandeliers and the majesty of the

huge bulk of the mosque had nothing to do with it .The

tranquility prevailing there, in the absence of any annoyance

coming from screaming children and "sticky" beggars and foxy

sellers harassing you , is sensed in the form of a heavenly

calmness and a cool breeze that welcomes your face there. It is

all there, at that site whose extreme altitude would almost makeyou mistake it that Iraq is but a few miles to the south ,only a

few kisses distant from you. Deposit a few kisses into your palm

and throw them up into the air, and make believe that it will land

as a dove does, on your relatives' faces , your brother, father,

and mother. You may make believe that they would land onto

faces of friends who were locked home, unable to make it and

leave , same as that brother of " Quraish Falcon " * , the one

who quit crossing the river and got back, assured by the


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promises of the manhunt squad across the river .Eventually, it

was his grotesque end awaiting him there . So was the case with

those friends who remained locked there in a way that just

pierces the heart to a perpetual bleeding .It is as if that Iraqi

poet , Abdul Razzaq Abdul Wahid * is chanting:

" Neither they are ever there to appear

Nor their voices too, for you to hear

Your home, that neighbor, or those friends and folks

And you keep on just departing and departing

With the roads around you, all wailing

As if all this vast world

is no more than a single narrow path, my dear pal"

The same meanings of these lines were chanted by Seals &

Crofts, a Baha'i duo, three decades ago. I approve quoting their

lyrics for the wisdom embedded, haven't I mentioned it earlier

that all rivers meet at one common spot * ?

" I'm going way down south, to Baton Rouge tonight.

Well I'll just close the door and turn off all the lights.

And though the images dance by, of the folks and friends wholie,

Down home where things are slow and easy goin' " .

I approve resorting to music, as long as it is not a sensuous and

sexplicit one , music and rhythms are there within the atoms of

all creatures .The particles bump and dance with each other in a

Foxtrot rhythm, as I presume , it is only that the scientists had

the title misnamed, those forces of "Vander Wal". The infantsthemselves never quit crying and resist resorting to sleep unless

rocked well ,they need a rhythm before they may submit

themselves to sleep, and the Turkish old man here was all

rocking too, an hour ago while reciting Quran . All bulbuls and

mocking birds are but generators of music, long before man first

made his first flute, same as volcanoes had inspired eruptions

and revolutions for mankind too . It is all there, on the wall of

creation, to light the way for humanity.


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Have you ever wondered why all those soft-pitched creatures

are always of the peaceful kind ,while those predators, all

roaring and howling , are best known for punching , snapping,

tearing and devouring?

This is the gist of it, how music is relevant to what is occurring

in Iraq.

Closing my eyes ,I used my MP3 phones and listened to Pat

Metheny's album ," Still Life-Talking" , come along and share

this issue with me.

How can any music be this wonderful, spraying its balsam over

your soul all the way, while your heart is soaked in bitter

wounds ?I know that Pat had composed this album a long time ago, as

early as 1987, but the feelings it leaves within you makes you

think that his chords speak your current Iraqi wound, as if

designed for Iraq, this very time, this very context.

How I wish that there is a way of having this album playing

while we are telling this one ,I wish that each reader does have a

copy of this album, to listen to, along with each of the first three

tracks of itguitar and bass guitar, sneaking into your heart,and the tickling drives you to cry ,rather than laugh.

And the murmurs of the players sound as if angels' humming ,

taking your spirit high up above the stratosphere , stripping you

from your human nature ,as if your spirit is taking off to outer

space and looking at earth below you, seeing it smaller and

smaller..

Bass guitar that speaks, while your heart anguish reaching its

peaks , a moaning sound coming out of a wounded deer, I wasprivileged with that sound that New Year's Eve ***** , do you

still remember ?

Never have I known of a bass guitar escalating this high, as if

talking in deed, almost leading the rest of instruments ..

All my life, I kept probing for a connection between life and

music ,until this album came my way one and a half year ago,

and I was made to realize the link between pain and music, as it

is in those PPS files, combining both words& images with


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music, altogether, I think that I am going to consume it too soon,

for the numerous times I am using it ! It is a tool to make you

reach a Nirvana, high above the level of pain , makes you

bypass it all and helps reminding you that life is but a very brief

march, no matter how long it might appear to you, no matter

how many obstacles seem to place themselves onto your course.

The first track, "Minuano", some reciting prayers and human

murmurings, so much tender , to start the session.. guitar and

sitar as well as murmurs resembling a silent prayer for those

who are in lack of any communication , telling of things that

rate to more than the meaning of our own lives .

Death and lovers' breakup , and that yearning feeling..The absurdness of life, and how the second term of our lifetimes

lacks what the first term has plenty of , the joy and the bliss of

being joyous for all the good things it has..

Sandy beaches and virgin white shores, never marked by any

human footprints, a solitary trip in a convertible car , amidst

spring atmospheres that are charged with the humidity of rain,

and sunlight penetrating the black clouds thru circular hatches to

drop over the fields below them, as if pillars of celestial light,and a giant rainbow with the greatest azimuth, standing astride

the horizon from east to west, how great you are, dear Lord of

all creation, and how impotent are all these people ..I have been

living those stances and views some fourteen years ago, and my

memory just can't seem to let go of it, till today.

Too many imaginations that follow each other..how many

lifetimes did you manage to live, Pat?

How many times did you fall in love, to the marrow of yourheart ,to end up having this big heart of yours?

Or could it be your lost passion for Antonia, that did create all

this beauty within you?

How can you manage to capture the heart and force its beats to

submit to the sinusoidal track that your fingertips play?

How do your guitar tunes rule over the sax blows, and the

raindrops that are created by the keys of the organ and piano?


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What is it that the bass guitar is striving to say, right in the final

moments of this track?

And why didn't your fellow marines learn how to refrain from

killing and destroying ? why didn't they learn how to love life

and its livings , the way you do ?

And you move to the second track, " So may it secretly begin ",and you are almost to forget the magic that the first track

inspired into you. The piano resembles teardrops falling on your

head, this is a different kind of speech, unfamiliar to average

people ,but those who are to focus and listen well are entitled to

understand ..my days would have been much sweeter if I were

to grab this album right when it was released.

The third track , " Last Train Home " is much the same. It isthe one interpreting my anguish ,and Iraq's too. The electronic

percussion suggests accelerating raindrops falling from the sky,

but this time it falls in tons, they transform into tears as they fall

down, to tell of our dilemma that the whole humanity has never

realized so far, it is only for this line of Abdul Razzaq's poem to

suit the tune of the track:

" Tears in millions, all for Baghdad

tears and tears, in battalions

Who is to bring Baghdad any nearer,

Baghdad that's weeping for me

Much the same as I'm doing ?

..

..I am shedding tears while my old age helps me none to

How come you cry, you seventy seven aged man?

And you know that the tears you are shedding

Are but ones of injured pride , not those of misery"

May be I'm right when I see it speaking of children whose limbs

have been amputated, so recklessly, as if they were mere statues

made of stone!!


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Or speaking of women weeping so helplessly, for the brave

guardian is no more there..

Or may be this music is really weeping because the ghost of the

criminal death marketed by people and made in Iraq , free to

roam the streets ,acting like a drunken villain ,on the loose..

And once again, no justice to prevail , and no right to force its

supremacy, for the whole world has agreed to slay the right and

shed the blood and souls of the people. It is as if I am seeing

Abdul Razzaq crying as he chants:

"You are the noblest blood of it to be shed

If you do not dare, then every child in my country is an orphanAnd every matrimony is a divorce

Let each star stall in its range

You and you alone, is a shining star

You and just you, are to fill the universe with fear

And all faces of death seem to hurl onto you

Humvies of hell, and the mad tanks tracks

And your death toll, and those insolent faces

And the fires flaming children corpsesAnd the kidnappers and the looters

And the women wailing, and the slaying until

.both the blades and the throats go shivering

Will all be one day

Any death for any which death on the run"

Guitar tunes having the flavor of a sitar, talking rather than just

playing , but you've got to promote yourself and escalate to itslevel prior to just listening , and the murmurs add more to its

inspirations.

The man has a guitar of his own improvisation , named it

"Pikasso", it beats any other Uud ****** .He is a gem of the

western world's, though sadly concealed by imported Rap and

Disco music,all bizarre styles of music that got my fellow

people to despise such class music, and overlook how much of

taming ability is there within its reach, for the untamable !!!.


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It is a grief that is customized to your own case, cry for what is

hurting your heart , and I will cry for mine..

Cry and feel no shame to do so , I will cover for you if you

were ever beside me , and won't let any stranger glance your

face, for your grief is mine, and no one in this merry land is to

understand you except for some ripped-heart guy like me.

Cry my brother, be you a Hussein , or an Omar *******, cry

like me, as long as you do not belong to those crooks and

scumbags.

Cry for too many that we have lost, yet no way to confess it , for

it's too late now, and all that crying of the little king of Granada,

never did him any good.Cry for the human beings, cry for the beasts of burden, for the

stones too..

Cry for mutilated corpses ,with no grave to home them, cry even

for those who had a grave too .

And here are some lines of Rabindranath Tagore , those ones

which Jawahir Lal Nehro described as being "like prayers",

telling of a plight that is much like Iraq's tragedy, although it is ahundred years old by now, composed by a very sensitive genius,

born in 1861, but the wisdom of his is still echoing so

enchantingly till today . It is the serial crime of Abel & Cain,

however different the cause or justification of the crime is to

be , whether a dispute on a marriage, a burst of rage that has

taken over reason, an oil well flowing with gold, or any other

reason that might appear very appropriate to inspire a kill!!

Don't you see it that we, human beings, have never learnt the

lesson?

That crow did not repeat the burial mimicry , except for that

very first, and final once, it was meant just for demonstration,

for the sake of that first and prime killer to learn the lesson ,

how to cover his victim's body, while the descendants of the

killer did approve the act of crime in stead, and carried on

repeating it, not even abiding by that lesson of the crow. May be


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it is because they did not condemn that first crime, that they

even clinged to using the name of the killer , Cain !!

I wonder who was the real crow, that bird, or( The Killer&

Co.) ?

"Listen to the old one speaks

Of all he has lived through

"I have crossed between the poles

And for me there's no mystery

Once a man , like the sea I raged

Once a woman, like the earth I gave

But there is in fact more earth than sea "

Listen to the enlightened man of Bengal, listen to him speakingof his fellow citizens, as if speaking of Iraqis in stead, listen and

focus on the final lines of his:

" Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls

Where words come out from the depth of truth

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way

Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit

Where the mind is led forward by thee

Into ever-widening thought and action

Into that heaven of freedom , my father, let my country awake".

Imam Zain Al 'Aabideen: Ali Bin Alhusain Bin Ali Bin Abi Talib ,

the fourth Imam of Shiites ,and the only male spared after the

massacre of Kerbala .


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(Aka Abdul Rahman Al Dakhil) : Founder of the Andalusian

Ummayad Caliphate after fleeing the Abbasid massacre of his whole

family and clan in Syria .

Abdul Razzaq Abdul Wahid: One of the most prominent poets

from the times of Saddam's reign, left Iraq after the late 2003 war, tosettle in France, and Syria lately. His poems speak of Iraqi grief and

nostalgic memories, as well as condemning the occupation of Iraq .

According to one quote of Prophet Mohammad, Muslims are

ordered to seize wisdom , no matter what source be the provider .

In reference to another editorial of mine, titled ( Happy New Year

Uncle Saeed).

Uud: A musical instrument that is the Arabian peer of the western

guitar .

" Hussain & Omar ", a metaphoric duo, suggesting an Iraqicommon frame of identity ( i.e. whether you are a Shiite or a Sunni

Iraqi fellow).


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