In your (third) calling the world.
You made a mistake twice
You said; the fourth world.
And you are throwing the twentieth
Mass.
Take the last stones.
Devil is throwing in your eyes his
Flames.
And charms disappoint you, that you take care of in starting your trips.
You afraid….hungry…slew
On the exile torture cross
Where can songs, put you, that you made in the sea-gulls?
In your (third) calling the world.
You made a mistake once you said; if its spirit penetrated in your bad words shall be grown, home_ land shall born from the palm roots.
From the poor plains which wears your suffering eyes.
Its words got in and words raised.
And home-land didn't!
You new last lands were born
So, start your third speech to the world again
In your (third) calling the world
You forgot to make a mistake
So, you couldn't talk.
You've gone after your restrictions
In voice, in clouds
Baghdad was distributing its pains on rain
And burn sorrowfulness in eye-balls
And you were afraid of rain
From eyes falling in rain
From evenings that play rain
From years malted by rain
In your (third) calling..
You listened alone to the world.
You've gone after your silence.
And came back afraid.
From its whisper that tears
The stone.

By Abdulrhman Mohammed Ali Almwalad

Translation made by Mohammed A. Al-Kumaim

Abdulrhman Mohammed Ali Almwalad

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-baghdad-whispers/