War and Peace
I.
Red Fog
Red fog rose
from the bloody river
when Baghdad’s proud walls
crumbled to dust.
The sobbing, the gasping
rose with the fog,
scratched the blank sky
till it wept blood.
High soared the blinking blades,
higher the cries of triumph,
down on the broken timber,
the toys forlorn in the ash.
Red ran the Tigris,
bearing pots and books and bodies
down through the desert,
frayed crimson silk.
II.
Green Shoots
Green shoots, vibrant,
blue buds, brilliant,
climbing the trellis
of ten thousand tiles.
The tall white walls,
the wide white courtyards,
the shimmering basins:
those were the flags of peace.
Not the carpets of ash
which the conquest leaves,
nor the polished parchment
where the truce is signed.
Peace is the pomegranate
in the smooth wooden bowl,
peace is the spinning-top
on the deep-green glaze.
Christina Egan © 2003 (I) / © 2018 (II)
These poems were inspired by the massacre of 1248 when the Mongols took Baghdad, but they can be applied to any war Mesopotamia has seen in the course of the millennia, or indeed to any other part of the world…
Brick from Baghdad, mid-13 century. Photograph: Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
au jour des ténèbres
Christina Egan 