They said of then that the rivers ran black,
a wave of ink and blood feeding on words
flowing from scrolls old and unprotected.
The heart of a world burnt in acrid
smoke and let die. It was named with a smile,
with free hands raised up to the sky; ‘God’s Gift.’
What is it now? Little more than the past
long past. A prime long forgotten, fallen
into ancient history. Did they know
the wrong they did? The pain they wrought the the world
when the took and broke the jewel of Baghdad?