Baghdad... Baghdad...

Days pass, and here I am, sitting alone, under the light of my laptop screen, when there is no electricity, as I hear nostalgic songs about Baghdad.

I have to admit that, being away from home on and off for the past couple of years, and for longer periods recently, is a factor in this nostalgia; and perhaps getting to know more Baghdadis residing in Sulaimaniya is the main reason for this. Every time we meet, we speak about Baghdad, and how we used to spend the evenings here and there, and how we used to walk around, looking at shops, eating sandwiches or ice-cream; back when there was a night life in the greatest city in Iraq.

Baghdad is now divided within us. There is a little Baghdad in each of us. Baghdad, to whom I’d love to refer as “she” instead of "it", is verily like a beautiful woman, that is so dear to every one who really knows her; but now, she is suffering from an illness which has a rare cure; a cure that is difficult to get.

This is how we Baghdadis feel. We cannot do anything but pray for the safety of our loved ones who are still there, and pray for Baghdad’s well-being. And here we are; crying, smoking, or both, whenever that bitter-sweet memories of Baghdad are recalled.
The worst, heart-mangling feeling in the world is when you see someone you really love, fading away before your eyes, and you can do nothing to save them, but pray.

It is like an 18th Century love story, where one cannot see his beloved, except when she goes out in the morning to bring water from the spring or river; and when she doesn’t come on time, he worries and worries, until he is told later that she is gravely ill.

Many of us, exiled or self-exiled Baghdadis, are unfortunately unable to visit Baghdad the beloved, for one reason or the other; but our spirits fly there, with every dove as the day breaks, kissing every palm tree, eating pastry and cream for breakfast at street corners, and embracing the sweetness of cardamom flavored hot tea cups.


“
Our city is beautiful,
Her name is Baghdad

She is a bride sent from Heaven to Earth,
I haven’t seen anyone as beautiful as her

Tigris passes by her, throwing flowers in her way,
And kissing her eyes with its waves

She is a lady of Science, Culture & Poetry,
“She is the beautiful and glorious,” said the Arabs, ”and an ever-welcoming hostess,”

Was there ever anyone she deprived?
Or was there a hungry she didn’t feed?

Words that her sons speak,
Are like music to my ears

She is proud, and will never be servile,
No matter how many scoundrels try.

O, city of Peace,
O, you paradise,
O, you with the most beautiful eyes,

Our city is beautiful,
Her name is Baghdad,
She is a bride sent from Heaven to Earth,
“



Baghdad, I will love you forever.