the community more than one hundred fifty thousand people get together each year at the international poetry festival of men to. demonstrate to the entire world then a country so drained by war. shows to humanity that the whole world's problems are. suffering is that every war but also lives in the world. cannot say since i live in such a big country. that everything is far. education . food. health. house in. my country still be the justice doesn't extend to all. a fully believe there is abuse of power and greed for natural resources because we are the children of a planet a planet the two we are depleting with wars and everything. tree doesn't unseat governments but it does open consciences and hearts it goes like this. or take a. more cold. we must stand up is always the words and begin to say that we should and is to be sexy is the legacy of mass destruction but the time has come for us to remember our value as it put right all our wrongs to celebrate our humanity and truly live the belief that each of us is the same person as all of us how. what. if you use only one hand nothing happens but with

wanted to read a poem that was sent by the poet that i invited to the recent san francisco international poetry festival from iraq i've been in touch with for more than a year and a half. after the united states would not give him his visa, i asked him -- i told him about mutanabbi street and he wrote a poem and he wrote it in english, though he writes in, of course, in arabic. but this one he wrote in english. so i'll read it. one figure in the poem you should know, humbaba, which is an ogre, a monster of immemorial age. that was a special big garden, a forest, where all types of trees and flowers grew. the trees bending down gently flinging branches. our orchard grew like a crown on the sun's eyebrow. where did humbaba come from? his mother was just a cave, his father unknown. who made him a friend pretending guardian of the orchard. did those nice shrubs need fear to go begging for a garden and have humbaba in his treachery ilk. those plants and flowers were like books everyone could read, not cut and throw away. their different fantastic colors had formed our blood so our veins ran smoothly, our 7 w