Poem by /Gharam Alrubaye
Translated by/ Ibtissam Ibrahim , Iraq
A stray bullet
On the remand of pouring pain
And a heart doesn’t escape from all this
Once , I was a cloud
Passed on a poor spot
then , it burst into tears
I was a sun .. decided not to shin
the farmers and workers were sad
but the thieves became happy
I was a paper
my lips are crowded with nonsense
I scrammed at the phrases
To say enough
It’s too much on my young heart
Once , I was an avenue
My back was hunched Of barefoot people
I became a rose , It didn't settle with a life
The scent screamed , stop picking me
I was a song
The flute accompanied me
With Aryan’s poems and Raysan’s moan
Now , they are broadcasting in all languages
On the channel of soul
Once , I became a bag
My belly was crowded with tells
But , I am from secrets protectors
I became a mail for letters
So soon I left this job
The letters were just a death in my bag
One of them for a mother
Tells her that she lost her only child
So the tin roof has fallen by her scream
The other one for a girl
Talking about replacing her wedding dress with black one
And a hard letter tells the owner to leave a ruined house
To build a (mall) suits to us
Once , I became a home but everyone ran away
Except the map dealers
Thanks God I came back to my sin
Gharam as me now
A poem which is followed by deviators
With a heart , bleeds letters , colors and poor