Origin of the Embrace
Thousands of years before its devastation, Iraq gave birth to the first love poem in world literature:
"What I tell you
Let the weaver weave into song"
The song, in Sumerian, told of the encounter of a goddess and a shepherd.
That night, the goddess Ianna loved as if she were mortal.
Dumuzi the shepherd was immortal as long as the night lasted.
[...]
Kafka
As the drums of the war butchery drew near, Franz Kafka wrote Metamorphosis. And not long after, the war under way, he wrote The Trial.
They are two collective nightmares:
a man awakens as an enormous cockroach and cannot fathom why, and in the end he is swept away by a broom;
another man is arrested, charged, judged, and found guilty, and cannot fathom why, and in the end he is knifed by the executioner.
In a certain way those stories, those books, continued in the pages of the newspapers, which day after day told of the progress of the war machine.
The author, ghost with feverish eyes, shadow without a body, wrote from the ultimate depths of anguish.
He published little, practically no one read him.
He departed in silence, as he had lived. On his deathbed, bed of pain, he only spoke to ask the doctor:
"Kill me, or else you are a murderer."
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