On the anniversary of the depature of the Iraqi Poet Al-Sayyab

Today, is the anniversary of the death of the great poet

Badr Shakir al-Sayyab. May his soul rest in heaven.

Thought, this day shouldn't be passed without sharing this post half of it is to remind people, Iraqi people of the importance of this poet and how much his poems was a great inspiration to the young generation during his days. I wish if I could belong to his era, a lot simpler, a lot happier and culturally stronger, when there was a true definition to something called life, and love.

But, for those of you who are not familiar with his name or his work; especially poetry lovers, here is a sample on one of his most popular poems called ( Rain Song )

Poem was translated from Arabic to English language by:

Lena jayyusi and Christopher Middleton.

Artwork by artist Sattar Kawoosh

Enjoy & happy holidays everyone heart emoticon

Best wishes...

Bedor Alobaidi

Your eyes are two palm tree forests in early light,

Or two balconies from which the moonlight recedes

When they smile, your eyes, the vines put forth their leaves,

And lights dance . . . like moons in a river

Rippled by the blade of an oar at break of day;

As if stars were throbbing in the depths of them . . .

And they drown in a mist of sorrow translucent

Like the sea stroked by the hand of nightfall;

The warmth of winter is in it, the shudder of autumn,

And death and birth, darkness and light;

A sobbing flares up to tremble in my soul

And a savage elation embracing the sky,

Frenzy of a child frightened by the moon.

It is as if archways of mist drank the clouds

And drop by drop dissolved in the rain . . .

As if children snickered in the vineyard bowers,

The song of the rain

Rippled the silence of birds in the trees . . .

Drop, drop, the rain

Drip

Dropthe rain

Evening yawned, from low clouds

Heavy tears are streaming still.

It is as if a child before sleep were rambling on

About his mother a year ago he went to wake her, did not find her,

Then was told, for he kept on asking,

'After tomorrow, she'll come back again . . .

That she must come back again,

Yet his playmates whisper that she is there

In the hillside, sleeping her death for ever,

Eating the earth around her, drinking the rain;

As if a forlorn fisherman gathering nets

Cursed the waters and fate

And scattered a song at moonset,

Drip, drop, the rain

Drip, drop, the rain

Do you know what sorrow the rain can inspire?

Do you know how gutters weep when it pours down?

Do you know how lost a solitary person feels in the rain?

Endless, like spilt blood, like hungry people, like love,

Like children, like the dead, endless the rain.

Your two eyes take me wandering with the rain,

Lightning's from across the Gulf sweep the shores of Iraq

With stars and shells,

As if a dawn were about to break from them, But night pulls over them a coverlet of blood. I cry out to the Gulf: 'O Gulf,

Giver of pearls, shells and death!'

And the echo replies,

As if lamenting:

'O Gulf,

Giver of shells and death .

I can almost hear Iraq husbanding the thunder,

Storing lightning in the mountains and plains,

So that if the seal were broken by men

The winds would leave in the valley not a trace of Thamud.

I can almost hear the palmtrees drinking the rain,

Hear the villages moaning and emigrants

With oar and sail fighting the Gulf

Winds of storm and thunder, singing

'Rain . . . rain . . .

Drip, drop, the rain . . .

And there is hunger in Iraq,

The harvest time scatters the grain in-it,

That crows and locusts may gobble their fill,

Granaries and stones grind on and on,

Mills turn in the fields, with them men turning . . .

Drip, drop, the rain . . .

Drip

Drop

When came the night for leaving, how many tears we shed,

We made the rain a pretext, not wishing to be blamed

Drip, drop, the rain

Drip, drop, the rain

Since we had been children, the sky

Would be clouded in wintertime,

And down would pour the rain,

And every year when earth turned green the hunger struck us.

Not a year has passed without hunger in Iraq.

Rain . . .

Drip, drop, the rain . . .

Drip, drop . . .

In every drop of rain

A red or yellow color buds from the seeds of flowers.

Every tear wept by the hungry and naked people

And every spilt drop of slaves' blood

Is a smile aimed at a new dawn,

A nipple turning rosy in an infant's lips

In the young world of tomorrow, bringer of life.

Drip.....

Drop..... the rain . . .In the rain.

Iraq will blossom one day '

I cry out to the Gulf: 'O Gulf,

Giver of pearls, shells and death!'

The echo replies

As if lamenting:

'O Gulf,

Giver of shells and death.'

And across the sands from among its lavish gifts

The Gulf scatters fuming froth and shells

And the skeletons of miserable drowned emigrants

Who drank death forever

From the depths of the Gulf, from the ground of its silence,

And in Iraq a thousand serpents drink the nectar

From a flower the Euphrates has nourished with dew.

I hear the echo

Ringing in the Gulf:

'Rain . . .

Drip, drop, the rain . . .

Drip, drop.'

In every drop of rain

A red or yellow color buds from the seeds of flowers.

Every tear wept by the hungry and naked people

And every spilt drop of slaves' blood

Is a smile aimed at a new dawn,

A nipple turning rosy in an infant's lips

In the young world of tomorrow, bringer of life.

And still the rain pours down.