The Play – prose poem by Alaa Kadhim al-Jabiri

“I beg your pardon my dear readers I did not mention the name of the play which is ‘The Mass Graves’.”

 

 …The play has started…

Turn out the lights…

Ladies and Gentlemen hold your breaths, stop speaking because you are sleeping victims.

The curtains are opened.

The first and the last scene.

From the podium of Death, the little girl Victim appears on the stage searching for her mother Oppressed as she stares at the pale faces and calls upon her mother: Mama. Mama. Where are you Mama Oppressed?…

A voice then cries from far…

My little girl, my dear, I am here.

The mother runs to her little girl, takes her into her arms, asking her, where were you my little girl…

The little girl replies with tears falling on her cheeks.

Mama, they took me to the second car, told me that my Mama was in the second car and that I would be with her in one place soon.

Oppressed wipes off her little girl’s tears and holds her in her arms again as she mulls over the sand hills of the desert of the south and the little girl sleeps on a merciful chest and paints kisses on her mother’s cheeks and the farewell smiles, then the sand curtains fall. The end.

The victims started talking about their secrets which are soaked with blood and the sound of the last bullets.

I beg your pardon my dear readers I did not mention the name of the play which is “The Mass Graves.”     

Baghdad, Iraq

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