Dedicated to Du'a Khalil Aswad

Wikipedia - Du’a Khalil Aswad was a 17-year-old Iraqi Kurd of the Yazidi faith who was stoned to death in an honor killing. It is believed that she was killed around April 7, 2007, but the incident did not come to light until video of the stoning, apparently recorded on a mobile phone, appeared on the Internet. The rumor that the stoning was connected to her alleged conversion to Islam prompted heavy reprisals against Yazidis by Sunni extremists, including the 2007 Mosul massacre.

Du'a

They whisper some words on the other side of the wall,
her hands shake for a sacrificed love
and behind a door, hidden, suffering originates.
The crowd drags her under the spotlights,
her hair is loose on her shoulders,
and her face looks stunned, at the mercy of a foolish reason.
Like a doll she gets thrown to the ground,
her face tortured by rage
and in the shadow a silent woman…observes.
Under her dark dress, her heart loses reason
and time slowly leads to the same fate.
The tiring breath, a lying body,
the wish to rise again, the voices, the rage
…a punch in the face, it is agony.
The doll returns to lie.
There is rage in the blood that flows slowly,
obedience is stained by this corroded love,
a jacket is thrown to cover the shame
for a rebel girl, a girl to punish.
On her skin there is dust , the rags
and her head is without a face, without memories.
The screams in her weak breath thunder out deafening
And they keep on hitting through her bloody locks.
Her fingers stop, they cannot defend her anymore,
They lose heart among the unmoved audience’s glances.
Life remains weak under the invisible eyes
on the bloody street in Bashika.
Someone checks again,
Du'a lies, still warm
Her heart has already stopped beating.

Du'a

Bisbigliano le parole oltre le mura,
le mani tremano di un amore immolato
e dietro ad una porta, nascosta, nasce la pena.
La folla trascina sotto i riflettori,
i capelli sono sciolti sulle spalle
ed il viso perso, in balia di una ragione stolta.
Una bambola scagliata sul terreno,
il viso martoriato dalla rabbia
e nell’ombra una donna silenziosa … che osserva.
Sotto l’abito scuro il suo cuore perde la ragione
ed il tempo conduce lento verso lo stesso fato.
Il respiro faticoso, un corpo disteso,
il desiderio di rialzarsi, le voci, la rabbia
… un pugno in volto, l’agonia.
La bambola torna ancora a giacere.
C’è rabbia nel sangue che scorre lentamente,
l’obbedienza macchiata nell’amore corroso,
una giacca gettata sulla vergogna
per una fanciulla ribelle, da castigare.
Sulla pelle la polvere, i brandelli
ed il capo senza volto, senza ricordi.
Le urla nel respiro esile tuonano assordanti
e continuano a colpire tra le ciocche insanguinate.
Le dita si fermano, non difendono più,
si accasciano tra sguardi di sordi spettatori.
Resta leggera la vita sotto gli occhi invisibili
sulla strada macchiata di sangue a Bashika.
Qualcuno controlla ancora,
Du'a giace calda,
il cuore ha già smesso di battere.

Selezione antologia III Edizione 2009 Premio Nazionale di Poesia e Narrativa “Alberoandronico”