How strange! My country is the biggest.” Day after day, the kitty laughed, but the laugh was a groan. * The morning breeze gently blew through a street that was empty save a dumpster and a respected tomcat, who saw the kitty exiting the State’s door after a nightshift. He unbent his posture, gave up his breakfast, and stretched his whiskers out to pick up news. So long as he had authority, the gasses in his gut had rank. Some illuminati shyly owned that the kitty originally had no tail. He spat on his fingers and tried to warp his moustache— alas! * The tomcat ran behind the barrel, belched, and showed the hangman his manhood as he swayed around like a dancer. Meow, precious,” she said. Tail, or no tail? His funeral is to be held at the neighborhood dumpster, inshallah. Summoned to the police station, the kitty mated with the department that maintained our infra-structures. * Muthaffar al-Nawab is one of Iraq’s most prominent poets and political critics. Today, a poem of his from our Fall 2020 CATS issue. It was written that the kitty stayed firm for a day or two after her tail was cut! * A Poem from the World of Cats By Muthaffar al-Nawab Translated by Zeena Faulk A dark wind bellowed out destruction as a sweet street kitty awaited nightfall, exposing one thigh and covering the rest—- may God protect the kitty and us—with the tail. ‘A Poem from the World of Cats’ by Muthaffar al-Nawab June 7, 2022June 2, 2022 by mlynxqualey Yesterday, we remembered poet Muthaffar al-Nawab (1934-2022). It remained downcast and didn’t rise. Through a crack in the wall, she saw a nationalist he-cat, puffing out the elegant national gas—but then came his emasculation. Zeena Faulk is an American-Iraqi literary translator and translation studies researcher. An eye, oh hangman, for an eye.” Madness all at once overtook the hangman, who fired a full round into the tomcat’s head. He struggled right and left to revive Antar; He smacked, he went west; reversed and went east— alas! The tomcat was killed, may he rest now in peace. How strange! The misdeed with the kitty’s tail, oh officer, was the cause. Signs of the end of times, the books said: How strange! What a strange land! The damage wasn’t in the whiskers but rather in the soul. In a dream he saw tails, a snake, a mule emasculated. Oh, meow! Meow be to God!” “To him thanks and praise are overdue. He closed one eye and called on God for help, “Nonsense! He laid down by his poor wife’s side but it was impossible! The officer coughed and the investigation was called off, and the hangman’s moustache soared upward, and then it fell back into place. Impossible! Aziz Shaibani Remembering Muthaffar Al-Nawab: Poet, Nomad, and Warrior for Justice Who Fought from the Trenches of Poetry Share this:TwitterFacebookEmailPrintLinkedInRedditTumblrWhatsAppPinterestTelegramPocketSkypeLike this:Like Loading… Glad your head wasn’t severed, my lady. It’s a sign of the end times, go hide— a rocket of filth is nearing.” Then he saw the hangman unhappily rambling, his eyes downcast, and his walk beckoning damage. “My tail, my lord! She has no tail to conceal her lady parts!” Carefully, he got nearer and said, “Meow, my lady.” The kitty held her tongue and wished the ground would crack open and swallow her. What was his rank? “Oh, meow! She lost two teeth to torture and was told the authorities were rumored to have scabies. Melody and eastern lust shone in his eyes. She lifted a paw to hail the big “thing” and to sing, “My beloved country. He climbed over the dumpster and went weak at the knees. The national gas leaked out of his eyes; he was silent. The “thing” was as uselessly soft and shrunken as the kitty’s tail. What had the officer eaten? * Also read: Muthaffar Al-Nawab as a Friend: A Talk with Dr. * On that biting February night, the hangman sweet-scented his “thing,” overdid tidying under the slacks and slicked his brows. Oh, what an eructation! The neighborhood kitties cried, “Oh, beloved tomcat!” A tailless kitty wailed, and the prison officer’s penalty came to a trim of his whiskers. May he rest in peace, that tomcat we buried. How strange! Ranks, or no ranks? “The forgiven one was crushed in the bloom of youth.” The Chairman of the Rats’ Dumpster Guild mourned him, and preacher after preacher followed. The state press said: “not killed, simply passed on.” His obituary was pasted on walls, doors, and dumpsters. She is currently a PhD candidate in Translation Studies at the University of Warwick. “Meow, dude!