‫قبل أن تغادرني المشاعر‬

‫أبو الحق‬

Before I Run Out of Feelings

Abu Al Haq

On the Iraqi-Turkish borders, at " Ibraheem Alkhaleel "

terminal , the fish there would always be sliding through
those waters, so smoothly in a most casual way, underneath
that bridge between Iraq & Turkey… and I find myself asking
me, once viewing them, " To whom do those fish belong? ".

Is to Iraq and Zakho, farthest north of both , or to Shernaq,

extreme south of Turkey?
And if any hypothetical fish language is to have many accents
in return , what accent then would be used by that single
fish , that very fish crossing the bridge axis ,right now, from
right to left?
Would it be Bahdinani Kurdish accent , or Shernaqi Kurdish
one?
Or, would it be Turkish in stead?
To whom does that fish of the borderline belong in deed?
And to whom do we, human beings too, belong , the very
moment we live the same "departure" stance ? How can our
belonging be a switching one, due to merely walking a few
meters, or even hundreds of them too?
Such a great difference is that one, parting the two habitats,
right of the bridge, and left of it , such a great difference!
At that gate where hell turns into a heaven, at that spot I
paused for a while, right ahead of me, the Turkish "Habur"
check point watching me, likewise too, was the Iraqi Khaleel
check point doing , leering at me from behind .

I felt an insistent need inside me to convince myself, for

those unfinished issues, asking me this time to be resolved .

I left that point right behind me..

"I have just abandoned a whole homeland behind me, do you
know it, Qardash"?
Such were my words for the Turkish military guy, he who
seemed to understand none of what I have said in Arabic,
nevertheless, he kept smiling, shaking his hands as if to
declare his surrender ..
" I am no longer a living human being ,I am no more than a
palm tree which managed to pull itself ,by itself ,out of its
soil, would you believe it ???"
This was how I concluded to him, while he kept being
irresponsive at all..
" I have just left a whole geography , history, and sociology, I
have deserted a heritage aging tens of years, hundreds of
months, thousands of days, will you understand it, will you
still be getting it if I am to stop and quit talking?? "
" I did quit the country where my memories flourished and
grew, but here it is all , sneaking right into the core of my
memory, once again!! "
"I just can't break free from it, same as it can never do, too, I
guess it will never work out fine, like that singer says !"
" I left a whole pack of pain and hope, of shame and
consolation, of pessimism and optimism, of opsimism * .."
" I left roaring giggles, and moments that I had saved for
such a long long time, never allowing my memory to set
them free, for the sake of some warmth into my heart, when
the converging life of mine strikes in total cold and frost "..
And all at once, a movie-like strip of shots showed in my
mind, so fast , I have been to this scene , each time I was
going through a car crash..
A dense cloud of steam in a bathroom, almost choking a
newly-born infant , would you believe it if I told you that it
was me there ??
And the smell of the burnt palm leaves near those slums,
children plays and the smell of Tigris muddy waters, inviting
me to come and drown there..
An image of me and my neighbors, carrying the ladles of
boiled wheat grains to their rooftops, spreading it to dry over
the clean and washed surface, further to steal some handfuls
of it, laughing all very joyfully ,before stepping down once
again to the garden, repeating it again and again.. where had
all that joy gone?
Could the moments of joy be annihilated ? Or is it forever
conserved, like matter and energy ?
My young friend, having been just hit on the head with the
tractor coupling , killed right at once, why does his tongue
drop this low? Many too many have I seen this scene of death
later on, but not quite that early !!
And my teacher, slapping me on the face six consecutive
times, for a single joke that I had spoken, got the whole class
laughing, why do those slaps still hurt? Is laughter to be
rewarded with slaps ?
Endless laughter from my late study times, still echoing till
this day, as if a tape recording, incidences deep inside my
memory, clinging to it, I guess I am going to have them
buried next to me when I depart this life .
And those days of the early war ,the blasts of shells around
me, and the sands of "Chnana " splintering all around me,
while the moon is full that night , I guess now that it was
almost a quick farewell one ..
Such is the trip of life of everybody , lots of cries and wailing
while being born, followed by total unconsciousness ,for tens
of years to follow , to further crying and wailing once again,
but by the spectators this time…what a waste, always such a
short span of lifetime.
Such is the trip of life between life and death.

I love you, Habur terminal , for you are one white blank page
that I am about to grab right now, only a few minutes away
from me. Many are the times that I had dreamed of passing
you all those years of the last century, without any hope, in
deed .

I yearn for you, Al Khaleel terminal , while my feet are still

not away from you, I love my life that lies behind you ..
I love you…..I hate you
I hate you…. I love you
I love you…..I hate you
I hate you…. I love you
I love you…..I hate you

My white rose ran out of its petals , so I turned to my mate to

borrow his rose ,for the hope of making love prevail , but he
just refused , said it violates the rules of this (luck game)!!
"Please, bend the rule and allow for a little bluff ", I pleaded,
" .. same as everything is going in Iraq today, where all the
rules ,all the laws , all the logic and the UN actions , are any
but logical?? Why not treat it as that WMD grand hoax ,like
that Kuwaiti incubators lie, isn't it right, that every body is
not playing it right?"
Being denied of this request, I was made to borrow an
additional petal , using my own imagination, one other
mocking trick, so that I might end up my game with yet one
other final "Love Ya "!!.
Do I " adore you ", or is it " I abhor you ", in stead?
I really am not certain what my heart is feeling for you..
Are you a new gate for the coming life of mine?
Or is it that you are just a terminal of an expired one?
And for whom do I really belong ?
Missed parameters ,and inverted feelings ..
Lost hopes and extinct lifetimes ..
An imposed life pattern, a pre-destined ending !!

I really am to wonder,
What is it that I could have done, but chose not to do?
And what is that thing, that I should have avoided doing it ?
Is it just because of all this that I am negotiating the bridge
of life?
Is it just for all this that I take the trouble to breath and
sigh? And dwell into death's final times ?

What an anguish and loss it is , that your feet carry you

onwards , while the eyes are turning around, heading
backwards?
What kind of suffering it is , to have your heart twinned to
your habitat, yet, rejecting most of its details ?
What kind of a loss can this one be, where you don't belong,
and yet, finding no welcoming lap to receive you ?
And how can anyone pluck this sprout out of the heart ?Any
idea how?
Why is it that we, human beings, are haunted by love for our
homelands, but are always complaining of what we earn
there?
What is the means of maintaining our passion for Iraq,
against its enemies, while this love is being opposed by the
acts of too many fellow Iraqis ?
A big ,multi-branched question , that I am tackling , just a
few moments before I cross the gates of life, running dry of
any memories.
Ibraheem Alkhaleel: Iraqi side of that border terminal,( Ibraheem
Alkhaleel is for Prophet Abraham himself) .
Bahdinani: One of the two main ethnicities of Iraqi Kurds, those
occupying the northern/north-eastern parts of
Iraq, closest to the Turkish borders .
Shernaqi: Of that southern part of Turkey, with Kurdish
majority occupying it .
Qardash: The common term to address any Turkish fellow in case
You don't know his name (like" Sahib" in India )
Opsimism: An improvised term for a counter improvised
Arabic one in the original text , meaning " both
pessimist & optimist " !
Chnana: An Iranian village near the south-eastern Iraqi borders ,
for memories of relevant wartime bombings back in
1981, during the First Gulf War .
Habur: Turkish side of that border terminal, "Habur" itself is
the name of the river flowing underneath the bridge .