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Like any other country, Iraq is another country known of its own unending warring wars   and head splitting series of politically motivated banditry and massacres.   Every country on this beautiful but now wretched earth suffer its own traumas. Iraq is one country that have seen the hand of war burning fathers’ hope and mothers’ wombs to death in broad day light, like in Africa’s Sudan, Congo and Somalia. Iraq’s have been on the run-in their hushed hunt for peace, fervent search for freedom, in their quest for   calm settlement.  FALEEHA HASSAN is an Iraq poet now living in United States of America. She chronicles war poetry and her emotional but diligently carved versifications re-awaken and evoke the reader to watch her homeland   through the mirror of her satire and peep unmarked graves long lost lives and through broken windows of allusion and imagery.    Despite her tough experiences of growing in life pounding war-times, watching reality films of death and heart-rending wails of dying humanity. Accomplished HASSAN packages her depressions, suffering, traumas and expectations inside the marrow and bone of poetic verses.  Her poems are succulent with  ripe meaning and the verses dangle with insidious ,belly pit  emotion .She snort  metaphor to the walls of  her country emblazoned with war graffiti .Beloved reader , I would like you to take  your couch to a silent secluded  corner  , read  attentively  and listen carefully  to this song of memory flowing from the revered pen of this great Word Slinger .  TIME OF THE POET REPUBLIC editors are sincerely gratified and profoundly honored to feature an Accomplished Author of twenty-four collections, Prolific Poet, Accomplished Scholar and Writer of greater distinction, FALEEHA HASSAN– (Blurb by Mbizo CHIRASHA)




Do you remember the watch you gave to me wrapped in a poem?

It is still bound to my soul’s meaning

The more time passes

The more the letters jump into my heart artery

My heart is now pumping flirtation

How many times I have wished

That if my city were not surrounded by graves

Then like a little girl

I would wait for you in a secret garden

Come on!

Take off this thick absence

As thick as a New Jersey coat in the winter time

Melt off the snow that has stacked on the lines of your messages

Mow the grass that has grown on your tongue

Don’t save a sea of tears for me

I am not a mermaid

Make yourself present with words

Woo me

Let me stop demanding my rights

And thrive by the touch of your fingers as they play with my hair

Let me fool myself again

And see you as center of my universe.




Like a girl who writes poetry about a boy she has never seen

My day sits with all this disappointment

Counting her fleeting moments

I remember my mother using the smell of onions

To shed her tears in the kitchen

For the absence of my father

Who climbed his life war by war

Whenever he wore his military belt

He wished that war was just an old shoe

He could take it off whenever he liked

And he didn’t need to think of fixing it at the cobbler’s shop

I remember my brother

Who asked in his letters–

When will the war understand that we are not good at dealing with death?

I remember us forty years ago

We were kids, very much kids

With colorful clothes and hearts

It was enough for us to see a balloon

To drown in big laughter

I remember all this now

When I drink my tea


I practice my loneliness.




Oh, great

Whenever I dream of birds

The cages fly above my head

And I will need all my lifetime to  know which cage  belongs to my dream

And then whenever I try to remember my childhood

A bomb falls from my memory and crashes into my reality


“What a lovely sunny morning,”

I told the girl

She was jogging in the forest

She smiled at me and said,

A soldier’s helmet is falling from your memory again.””

Don’t worry.  I have so many of them,” I told her”

Everything will be good

I say to myself

And I keep jogging from exile to exile

As my friends keep running from the battlefield of one war to another

And returning as pictures with black frames.




When I entered my apartment

The stairs were lying like tired men after a hard day’s work

The door a yawning mouth

My TV was listening intently to the sports newscast


Like a huge fat woman, the couch was sitting on the floor

Hardly breathing the used air

The curtain tickled the cheek of the window………

Swaying gracefully above

My books slept like babies on the hands of the bookshelves

The dining table was listening to the whispers of her chairs

The lamps were winking at to each other

The fan was busy flailing her arms indifferent

In my apartment

The life looks the same as I left it

Everything is normal


It is more than normal


No one missed me?




Oh, my god

This poem!

Whenever I try to make her stand on the reality line

She flutters like Marilyn Monroe’s dress in the imaginations of men

I tell her to keep herself on one meaning

But she defies me

While wearing the interpretation mask

And when she tries to describe the battlefield

She is looking for the effects of kisses

On the collars of the soldiers who are tied down in their trenches

With fear and hopelessness

But if they were to be blown up

And their bodies were every where

Her words would be meaningless

For she hiding behind symbolism

She can’t sense the children’s horror from the bombs

And their attempts to huddle against the remnants of destroyed walls

Her cheeks do not hurt

Like mothers’ cheeks dried of their hot tears poured while waiting for deferred letters from their absent sons

She does not take the risk of thinking

So, she can’t believe any truth

She does not pay attention to my damaged life

Which has been crushed by the harsh machine of days

She is trying to make her words beautiful

So, she sprinkles rose water on an erupting volcano

She is too comfortable with death and even praises him

She is summarizing all this loss, darkness, combustion, destruction, chemical weapons. black banners, coffins, skinning , deprivation, orphanages, curfews, warning, sirens, barbed wire, tanks, thrumming of planes, explosions. Murder. blood shed on the side walk, death, ashes, displacement, emptiness, charred bodies, mass graves, coffins, body traps, yelling, sadness, anger, hunger, thirst, vigilance, slapping …. etc.

She summarizes all of this in one ward


While I am, the poet stand in the middle

Watching my body jump from death to death

For nothing

Just to let the poem come

But after all this trouble

She only comes imperfectly


By Faleeha Hassan


Faleeha Hassan (2)FALEEHA  HASSAN  is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, playwright from  Iraq. She  is Iraqian diasporian  living in the USA. She is the first woman wrote poetry for children in Iraq. She received master’s degree in Arabic literature, and published 24 books. Her poems have been translated into (15) languages, , her book nominated to Pulitzer Prize on 2018, and she is the cultural Ambassador – Iraq, USA .



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                                     TIME OF THE POET-An Internet based Poetry Center,  Archiving Theme based Digital Poetry Anthologies and  Profiling Iconic Poets and Writers.otole4523


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