“I see you Brussels” by Ahmed Zaidan an Iraqi poet and refugee

Ahmed Zaidan is a journalist and poet who fled from Iraq in 2013. Now, he lives in Turku, Finland. He has always been fascinated about Brussels. Back in 2016, he wrote a poem entitled “A flower in Brussels” in response to the terror attack that took place in Brussels. This poem was publish in his last book “Aurora from Mosul” released this year in Germany this year.


A Flower in Brussels

I am neither poet nor musician,
I just wish to be a beautiful part of this world.
I wish to be
a piece of peace, floating in Tigris,
a candle, weaving the cheerfulness in Paris,
a flower in Brussels,
yes, a flower in Brussels.
I would like to be
a loaf in Africa,
a drop of hope in Syria,
the story of a beautiful tomorrow
the mothers narrate to their children before they go to sleep,
the smile on the Iraqi’s child face,
who just lost his father, mother, and all his toys.
I wish to be their concealed joys 
in the remaining piece of the worn toys.
I wish to be
a ribbon of blue news
flapping with the birds that follow the seasons
waiting for the curtain being opened.
I wish to be
the dew on the flowers that reflects hope,
that reflects the upcoming sunrise,
that precedes the darkest moment of the long night,
as the transparent planet abbreviates the ages,
and reflects the colors into the endless universe’s bulk of life.
oh, the dew on the flowers,
how deep you are!
I wish to be
the dance of the wheat spikes on the rhythm of rain,
or the rabbit’s scamper in the moonlight,
the scamper which ignites
a short tail of questions,
just like a meteor,
or the moths orbiting the lantern
like tiny wishes
being pulled to the flare,
the corona of the light
dug in the pale fog 
like hanging gardens.
The inhabitants in there were displaced,
and the houses were abandoned
like another planet’s aftermath, silent.
While I continue walking
in the street of memories,
when the dusk engulfs me
like pots of colors being spilled on the white paper,
carrying nightmares and dreams together,
I absorb some of the colors,
occurring spots of hope,
to draw the exit door,
and  a window for
the ray of the life to leak,
to fertilize the eyes of children