Michael Mintrom: Mosul Requiem

Mosul Requiem

1

The sun, relentless, lights narrow alleys.

Looking up, tired eyes see silhouettes—

Jagged rooflines, broken walls, black against

A yellow sky. Evil things happened here.

The Great Mosque of al-Nuri’s a rubble heap,

The skull-like dome is cracked and bullet-holed.

That Mosque stood a thousand years. Holy ground.

A place of worship, singing, morning prayer.

 

School kids from Nineveh pay a visit.

They ask why the city is so smashed up,

Who were the villains? Who flew the war planes?

They wonder where the families have gone.

Are they safe now? Why are their clothes still here?

The next day, back home, they hide in cellars.

 

 

2

 

The wind never stopped blowing, dust and stink

Caught in my nostrils. What started with bombs

Quickly became everyone for themselves.

There were many days of wrath. Fire came

From everywhere. Slaughter all about.

I had powerful weapons and, by ladder,

I scaled the walls. From three vantage points

I worked hard. Through my actions, many fell.

 

In constant danger, sleep was hazardous.

There were nights when I would drift in and out

Of conscious thought, unable to tell

What was real and what was not. Often,

I was in the Colosseum, rough beasts

Circling, charging, set to eat me alive.

 

 

3

 

Once opulent white marble palaces

Stood here, with marvellous hanging gardens.

Lush foliage spilled over terraces,

Down walls. Word spread of this horticulture,

The perfect blending of art and nature.

Mosul was an oasis of human

Aspiration. A centre of science,

Philosophy, creative endeavour.

 

The arc of the moral universe is

Long, they say, but it bends towards justice.

Still there’s a lot of crazy deviance.

What leaders could imagine destruction

And death would deliver better outcomes?

So it goes. A trumpet plays adagio.

 

 

4

 

Even poets become state enemies.

Foolish smart mouth. Don’t think you’re safer

On a London bus. You proclaim freedom

Of speech. You want to protest, and loudly.

You tell us we must live with conviction,

We must have courage, shout truth to power.

An agent of the state looks on, smirking.

Speaking out can earn you a night in Hell.

 

Before we take action, we pray for hours.

With your books and forums you think the times

Are in your favour. You live in a fog.

Why didn’t you write poems about flowers?

Here let me quote your fancy little rhymes.

What shit you write. You should be fed to dogs.

 

 

5

 

The global press reported the battle.

The poets and philosophers said what

Needed to be said. And still the wind blew.

The battalions fought until there was

Nothing left for fighting over. Nothing.

Inside it all, we didn’t think too hard.

We saw the devil at play. We were afraid.

Men, women, children, all slaves to his will.

 

We were hiding. My buddy took a hit.

The rats moved in before he died. At first

They ate his vomit. They entered his mouth.

His wound was through his eye. They ate his eye.

Then they entered his brain, crawling through his

Eye socket. They came out smeared in grey slime.

 

 

6

 

Mosul Requiem. A fighter who is

Dead and alive waits for the next insane

Command. He’s alone, hidden in a hole,

Trapped between sand and sky. With nothing left,

He checks his devices, sifts memories.

His mother, his father, his sister, his

Brother want him back. That handsome, funny

School kid is who they think about each day.

 

A musician, ghostly in the pale

Afternoon, comes by, strumming a banjo.

Being used to seeing only danger,

This apparition fills me with fear. Yet,

He sings a love song, so strange, so peaceful.

We’re gone, forget us. But find that song—Sing it.

 

Michael Mintrom