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Iraqi Conflict, poem by Gary Beck
This morning I took the bus
to the village where I was born
to discuss events with the imam,
who has counseled me since childhood.
I told him of my confusion
since the Americans invaded.
They made all sorts of promises,
if we didn’t resist their attack
and like many of my shiite friends
I left the army without fighting,
and then our country surrendered.
There was little resistance at first,
despite infidel occupation
of our sacred Islamic land.
Then the cowardly flight of Saddam,
which meant the end of sunni rule,
gave hope to my shiite brothers
that we would be allowed to worship
in the glory of the one true faith,
no longer fearing persecution.
Then sunni resentment was inflamed
and disorder threatened the land.
Roadside bombs flourished like flowers,
whose blossoms erupted in death.
The men of Al Qaeda arrived,
burning with zeal for destruction,
lusting to slay Americans,
or other foreign invaders,
and explosions became daily song.
There was talk of a new government
that would give us all democracy,
but the son of the murdered El Sadr
aroused discontent in the poor,
and hatred in the fanatics
against American soldiers,
and the new Iraqi government.
Then the sons and daughters of Iraq
became targets of terror,
and their deaths bring us much sorrow.
My older brother joined the police
and was killed by a suicide bomber.
My sister became a translator
for the minister of Education,
and was shot down in the street like a dog.
When I was summoned by Al Qaeda
to fight the infidel enemy,
I didn’t know who was the enemy.
There are foreign occupiers,
the displaced loyalists of Saddam,
our powerless new government,
the cunning agents of Iran,
the treacherous men of Syria,
the bloodthirsty henchmen of terror,
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