The picture of Khalid Kishtainy sitting on Saddam Husseins throne has aroused a lot of comment and quips. Of course, what really interests me to hear about that picture is what the owner of that throne might have said when he saw this scoundrel sitting on his throne. However, a different kind of commentary arrived in the form of a satirical poem which Ghazi Algosaibi composed and sent to me:
I saw you, O Abu Niall,
Sitting proudly on the throne,
Displaying yourself like a peacock,
In love with the custom of display
Blown up like a balloon,
Although with no beer belly,
Terror overwhelmed me deeply.
I almost shouted 'Get up and run',
I fear you getting infected
With the tyrant's desire of suppression.
I fear that you will turn
Into a Nero or a Dochi,
You may fall in love with the life of palaces,
Enjoying wantonness and extravagance,
That you become fond of caviar,
After beans and mash,
That you may drag us along
And throw us in the North Sea,
That you make mincemeat of us,
And eat us with pickles,
You may treat us playfully,
Like the savage sole leader.
Trifling with despots may lead
So often to the grave.
It occurred to me that my brother, Aby Suhail, entertained some ambition to usurp this splendid golden throne. Therefore, I considered it my duty to warn him against such an ambition. So I answered him thus:
Oh, easy, Abu Suhail,
This is the method of a fascist.
You want to take the throne
With the strokes of a mighty whip.
We inherited that throne
From Saddam so easily.
So to Baghdad do not go,
Do not leave and do not walk away,
But give us a day
To enjoy our stuffed food,
Our masquf fish is tastier,
Than the caviar or the fish and chips
Our Iraqi lettuces are more palatable
Than apples and peaches,
Our Euphrates water is nicer
Than champagne or Vichy water,
With our bread taste
The splendour of our dates syrup and tahina
The people of Iraq are now free,
To their health let us drink!
Let us enjoy our delicate drink,
With olives and pickles.
Oh, Abu Suheil, if our friends in London are missing you, thank God, in this blessed month of Ramadan, we are not deprived of your cheerful words and splendid poetry. I do not know whether you visited Charles Dickenss house in Kent. In his study there is one of his usual jokes. Ten thick volumes with the title Three Days in China. I have not reached that inventiveness. But I spent three days in Iraq and came back and wrote ten articles. As you see, this is more brilliant by far than what Fidel Castro does. He sleeps for three hours, wakes up and then talks for ten hours about his dreams. But even this is nothing compared to the achievement of Amr Musa, the secretary-general of the Arab League, who said three words about solving the Iraqi crisis and then slept for three months.
