Original photo by Ali Tareq, reworked artwork by Isabel Ros López
Isabel Ros López wrote this poem on learning about a boy, at the onset of the Iraq war, loosing his arms as a result of the indiscriminate bombing campaign which according to recent studies killed 1.2 million people. The poem highlights the pornographic nature of many photographs and other media which conveys pain and disaster whilst keeping silent about the reasons why the war was started and silent too about the voices of those affected, especially if they denounce these actions.
The pornography of mutilation
multiplies images
like an disgraceful mimeograph
“We blow your arms off, little boy
but now we are going to take you
to be fixed”
And to make sure everyone knows
“And my sisters and brothers
and my neighbours and my grandmother
my parents and the other
children of my old school?
I no longer have a school
I haven’t had a school for eight years …
At Lava’s house
we learn math sometimes
at Milad’s house
natural sciences and language
but from the skies
countless packaged deaths
keep falling
and it seems
that no one cares…
Who will fix all this?
Who will fix it?
Are they going to take
my whole country
to a hospital?
Of thirty hospitals
four function,
though not well…
Words escape me
to explain
to tell you … but I can’t
I don’t even want to now…
each word of mine is multiplied
each image of me
a thousand times captured
everyone knows who I am
and I don’t know who anyone is
And those I knew…
are no longer.
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