Yassin Khader Al-Qaisi (Prepared Angela Kosta)
Moderator 
BY YASSIN KHADER AL-QAISI (IRAQ)
SHIITE AUGUST 11
On the eleventh of August, the lawyer arrived, his engine was slow, and so was hers, he walked towards her among the crowds, raising his head strongly, looking at her with eyes full of anguish and sorrow! And she was the one who took him, waving to him, her thoughts scattered and losing her mind, clashing with these living beings or those, an afternoon away from them they froze, they made their way to Rouj, her walk was confused, confusion was drawn on her big, radiant face despite her age (Is he the one I left those years ago, or) someone else, has he grown old and aged like me, has gray hair invaded his parting like mine?) She began to walk towards me while he hastened his steps towards her with longing that overflowed his heart and continued. On that day of burial, life began to die, the huge crowds of people and the wind turned, panic and fear settled inside them, the birds hid in their nests, the cars stood still, everyone stared from inside their homes, big or small, he walked towards her, she came towards him, everyone saw the moment of the new embrace, the wind roared, breaking the branches of the pieces, afraid of the hearts, moments, everyone's eyes were fixed in awe of this meeting, the weather changed completely from hot to completely cold and still, everyone had not known this boring silence, the one-eyed woman watched the limbs of the two old men, after this meal for years, it began to enter her little by little, penetrating her body that flowed without her will, and she saw her parts and her consciousness disappeared, the children began to cut the ray chips, the colored creditors that tended to transparent black, and in open shapes, placing them on their eyes to see the two old men carefully. I was about to go out into the street in the hope that I would become cigarettes, and they began to appear at noon, they are in bronze after the sheikh, the hero, embraced them and he came from, and I looked at them through the chips that my son had cut for me, to see their shyness - at that time - I saw a cigarette seller, an old man at the bend of the road, I spoke to him - Uncle, what is this, look at this that has occurred in the universe, look at the stars that appeared to us while we were in the middle of the day!
The old sheikh looked at me, whose pale face was covered with wrinkles of years that killed joy and good news in him, and hunger was crouching in his guts before performing, and sadness was frank with a friend in front of him, he raised his head towards me, clenching his fists with wide eyes in which there was questioning and suspicion, so he answered me in the voice of a slaughtered, honored man, broken by sighs and groans, and left...
- The stars that you spoke about, my son, for years I have been seeing them every day.
Prepared Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, promoter
