Hanged In Baghdad


Poem written thirty-minutes after Saddam Hussein was hanged in Baghdad, or approximately 10:30 PM, Lima, Peru time (Written in Huancayo, Peru); Baghdad time 6:30 AM. No: 1593 (12-29-2006)


An animal likeness, a root of evil
A soul badly situated—he was the upheaval.

The morning sun, striking down on Baghdad
How close was he to life, a moment ago?
Before the hangman’s noose tightened around his neck?
How close was he to life a moment ago?
Now ready to be wrapped in a shroud (dead)?
His whole sky must cascaded around
His fearful face, it sagged with dread;
His lost Horizon now but a dung-heap!
A heart full of rubbish—here and there,
Now finally aired…! Now finally dead!

A strange collection of people we have here on earth…
One crude piece of wallpaper, now roughly torn off—
Plaster and all, no longer clinging to the wall:
A sadness—but not for the world at large;
Sadness—for a soul lost, going to another.



Note: he (Saddam) will now be buried (in the same cemetery where his two sons were); his last words were “Muqtada al-Sadr,” His body taken to Tikrit. He was defiant to the end, refused to wear a hood. I lived his tyrant life, seemingly step by step, from the 1980´s onward; it is nice to see justice prevail in such cases. Sad his soul will be in Hell, but where else would it be happy? Like to like, for his kind, and so a chapter in history is recorded, and he most likely be forgotten in the annuals of written history in a few decades. They all think they will live on forever. When in reality, most are forgotten quickly after their death, and most of the world is happy to forget he ever existed.

Three Obscure Poems: on--War, Death and Hope



“Deeper Than Thunder”
(a Poem on the Sounds of War)


(Rockets) Each blast—a deep concussion, soundless waves felt under my feet, up and down m spine. My whole body absorbed the deep-thunder; the wheels in my mind, creak, shaken by debris flying about; charged air fills my chest, muscles are trembling. The sound of the air-blasts rolls over the landscape.



Note: Vietnam (1971), was my war you could say is no different than any other war, the sounds of bombs, rockets, guns, whatever; they carry a distinct “ka-phoom! (occurrence!),” to say the least. So to all the soldiers out there, the sounds of war will stay with you forever. No: 1587 12-26-2006

“If Death Had Wings”
(A poem on Death)

If I saw death, and death had wings
I know where I would go—
Someplace between Heaven and Hell,--
In the form of an eternal soul:
Where Peace and hunger was no more—;
If only death had wings
That is where I’d go—!
Yes, that is where I’d go!
If only dearth had wings!
Wins, wings, wings—
I’d put them on my soul.

Note: No: 1562 12-10-2006




“Gray Oblivion”
(the Root of Hope)


In the sunlight
Hope thrives best—
In the fog, it
Does not at all—.
Self-interest and
Self- preservation
Is stronger than hope,
And once it takes root,
Hope opens its jaws.
Thus, one can say,
Hope and Reality
Thrives on nothing,
And nothing blossoms
In the jaws of death.

No: 1567 12-11-2006