The last part of the poem Sojourn of Poverty and Revolution by Iraqi poet `Abdul-Wahab Al-Bayyati (my translation):
-6-
I had told you that I would return
But I was burnt in the distant ports
I was hit with dizziness,
and my foot slipped
I fell into a trap
My medals, and the emblem of
my love were stolen
And the poem
was my only weapon
in the cities of the world,
and in my displaced homes
In it I gouged the eyes of thieves
and the lazy frogs
Who buys a poem?
In return for this moon sinking
in the lake of the sky
over the extended summits
in return for this green rain,
this unique rose
-And who can release the
poet from captivity?
release him from the darkness
of our age, from the anxiety of
destiny
-Poetry was my providence,
ye hired killer of mine
-Who can wipe the sand from the glass
of this despicable hotel?
-I fell into the ambush
Oh, ye witness, swear your oath
and wipe the stars with a
handkerchief
the world has no alternative
and revolution is destined to
smash this heavy mountain
-You fell into the trap
So walk on your head
and clap tonight right and left
The party tonight is not pure joy
and is certainly not a funeral
-You fell into the trap
Write us a poem
about the stars, and give
it a happy ending
-I had told you that I would return
but I was burnt in the distant ports
and the poem was my only weapon
with it I gouged the eyes of thieves
and lazy frogs