sound of a bomb.
of course my faith was gone. the riverbeds were dry. but my soul was not empty and i will tell you why. many nights i had a dream, that when i would finally die, which happened in the first gulf war when i was killed, right here, by an american bomb, i would finally again see my son. i knew that he would smile to me just as he did on my darkest day, a smile that said: forgive. forgive yourself mummy, because i forgave u. and he takes my hand and together we fly. we fly around baghdad putting the crowns back all the date palm trees.
and that is what happened. it is very nice, this flying. just the same as in your dreams. only better. so we flew. for a while. but after a while he said “mummy, you must go back to baghdad – and watch over our people, with all the other ghosts. me, i am a child, so i can go to paradise now. but you, you must watch, because the worst, mummy, the worst is yet to come… you must watch until there is finally peace. but i will wait for you.” and so i am here, watching. with thousands of other ghosts who are watching with me. there are more every day. do you see them all? they are everywhere, all around us. and when there is finally peace, fahdil will come again and we will fly together, we will fly through the white clouds and into the eyes of allah.
last page from judith thompson’s brutal yet beautifully lyrical play “palace of the end” – a thin book that’s a true shock to the system, a must read for anyone who wishes to understand the suffering of the iraqi people. am heartbroken about iraq today. just knowing is not enough.