I’m looking for the cancerous thief
In the cracks of the Torah…
No Arab in the alley spills henna
On the braid of Jerusalem…
Wahida Hussein, a renowned writer and poet of Iraq, shares her poem
Wahida Hussein, a renowned writer and poet of Iraq, is a professor at the Department of Educational and Psychological Sciences, College of Education, Al – Mustansiryia, University. She did her graduation in Education and Psychology from University of Baghdad in 1990, and did Masters in Educational Psychology from same university in 1996. She completed PhD in Educational Psychology at Al-Mustansiriya University in 2001. Wahida won many academic awards and honors. She has been the Member of the General Union of Iraqi Writers and Authors, and many other associations including the Association of Educational and Psychological Sciences, University of Baghdad; Childhood Association; Women Protection Association etc. She is author of some books including two poetry collections – Hymns for the Daughter of the Wind (1998), In the Unconsciousness of Nakhal (2019), and Motherhood Poem (2023). Her Scientific Publications include ‘A comparative study of cognitive styles among university students (Master’s thesis), A correlational study between creativity and some psychological characteristics of poets (PhD thesis), and several other research papers published in journals in various countries. Her published books in the field of education are: The soul in an educational vision (2015), ‘The soul in a cognitive vision’ (2016); ‘The Poet in Psychological Visions’ (2019) and ‘Thinking between learning and teaching’ (2023).
In the cracks of the Torah
I will press on the fatherly pain
Under the molar of a gun…
A gun surrendered to the gentlest wind
In the yawn of an Arab nation…
Mothers twinkle in my eyes
The rain failed them in October
October, in which the question was deceived
Falling from the nails of a branch…
Leaning to the left of the boys
Children whose hearts are round
Under the shade of a ring…
And their voices are like smoke magic
They did not weaken or doubt the birth of a stone from the terrain of a homeland.
The homeland imprisoned in the throat of God…
Whenever the wave is in the middle of a candle’s den…
Since the well came out of Joseph’s shirt
To gather the tears of Thi Qar
Under my armpits is a palm tree.
And the hatred of salt in the grooves of the years
The years that are hypocritical to Cain
On the lip of advice…
Cube root of Surah Al-Hisab
And the tax of kohl under the eyelids of Jaffa
Jaffa, widowed in the night of Assyria
The other did not dismount
From Hafiza Dinar’s grief over the bloodshed…
The blood spilled on the body of speech in the bowels of Ashura.
Ashura that was not taken for it
Temporary husband…
From men’s appetite
Men who do not ask permission to enter the door at will, even for an hour.
At the nation of Zion
So, O God, give me a day from the family of Moses
I justify the Nile with two eyes and two lips
From Asia’s confession…
Do not let the geography of silence speak to me
From the memory of ill-gotten gains, so that the morning may set its time, from the melody of the dragonfly
The trees and hope are fed up
And the window is sad…
Window don’t let me smile from the features of your eyes
Every brush appetite…
The paths no longer remember me
Or understand me, Fuarzi
Fuarzi is fickle between the features of an orange.
And the rust of the definition of doubts and absorbed in the strait of the key..
Friend Key Not Friend
He teases me and makes fun of me
Or loves me more than average
In the sigh of the sea
I wish I wasn’t with you, Elliot.
In my depressed no borders…
And my voice withers in a cigarette tear
He repeats to me in the mirror in a lip of affirmation
Affirmation philosophizes me from the depths of my soul
I’m looking for the cancerous thief
In the cracks of the Torah…
No Arab in the alley spills henna
On the braid of Jerusalem…
Nor a foreigner, after a cloud, dissipates the burden of carrying a camel
Or the flute distracts from its three-part name in the difficulty of a handkerchief
Despair is a wise grace.
In the futility of this hardship
There is no point in waiting for you
From Chemistry Title.
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Coordinated by Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, promoter
