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Muniam Alfaker

The world

This is not a world But a wisp of countries This is not a humanity But a handful of communities This is not a homeland But particles of dust This is not a human being But drops of blood These are not alive people But they are not dead This is not a sea But a cemetery of water Even you Aren’t you …. The world is my home Iraq is my room

To build a home

One day I shall Take a bit of sand, Take a few herbs. Take a little water And thousands of kilometres of barbed wire. This is how I shall make myself a home. Shall i call it “Iraq”?

The pain

If the pain had been white we would have painted the houses and decorated the rooms with the pain but as the pain is black we hid it in the innermost drawer of the heart.

A family

In the morning: a cup of coffee between cheese and olive. The breakfast table grew bigger with their hands, when Father was about to leave the boy asked for chocolate, mother asked for a kiss, father said “ I‘ll be back this evening” In the evening: the boy is out on the balcony mother is in the kitchen, father is in the mortuary.

Muniam Alfaker is a Iraqi Poet and writer. Lives in Denmark. He published more than 60 poetry books in Denmark, Norway, India, Egypt, Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, Jordan, France, Bosnian-Hercegovina, and Morocco. He received several literary prizes in the country and abroad.