Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Thought
To be one with the earth
Imagine solid thought
To be one one with the wind
Imagine invisable thought
To be one with the universe
Imagine liquid thought
To be one with peice
Imagine surrounding thought
21:58 Posted in Imaginable | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Monday, December 04, 2006
posted by Faiza Al-Arji
Sunday, November 19th, 2006
Peace be upon you…
To continue talking about my visit to Baghdad…
Sunday came on; it was the day of Saddam and his assistant's trial, and the issuing of the verdict.
We were busy with the laundry and house chores, and watching the electrical power, whether it was the national company generated, or by our street generator?
When the national electrical power is on, we operate the washing machine, the electrical heater, and the water pump, to lift up the water from the ground storage tank to the upper tank on the roof.
As for me, I have forgotten these things for two years, as I am living in normal conditions outside Iraq, no problems of national electricity, generators, or suffering. But for the poor Iraqis, these are their every-day vocabulary since the nineties, the embargo, and the electricity problems which weren't solved until now.
Usually, when the national electricity power is off, the water supply stops, because all the central pumps stop, and when the general electricity is on, the water supply comes along, so people operate the pumps to lift up the water to the upper tanks…
We used to come and go, to find out what will the verdict be against Saddam?
Then, at last we saw the verdict, and said: wow, things will burn up with fire again.
And sure enough; mortar shells are still falling over Adamiyah, a Sunnie neighborhood accused of supporting Saddam. And there were many demonstrations in various cities, some supporting, and some condemning the verdict.
But the real disaster was the Prime Minister's (Al-Maliqiee) speech, for it was a disgusting, sectarian, anger-provoking speech, for those wise ones who seek to calm things down and pull the country out of its dilemma.
And for some others, the sectarian, narrow minded like him, they found it a great speech.
And still for some others, those who were angry with the other sect, their anger and indignation increased.
The disasters increased when the Iraqi Police opened fire on demonstrators who denounced the verdict against Saddam, while fire wasn't opened on those who supported it…
There was a sub-title on Iraqi TV stations, that some militias were attacking some areas in Baghdad, or attacking people's houses and kidnapping them. It was supposed to be a curfew, how do these militias move around and attack houses?
Where is the government, the Police, and the Army?
We called many friends to ask what is happening in their areas, and each area had its own terror…
Here, there are militias, and there, mortar shells are falling…
At that moment precisely, I saw the fact that this is a losing sectarian government which pours oil over fire, increasing the blaze in Iraq.
I was amazed at the government's stupidity, and its dumb, backwards political speech. I felt it has revealed to everyone its idiocy and incapability to handle Iraq's problems wisely, and intelligently.
The Prime Minister said in his speech: the execution of Saddam isn't equal to one drop of blood from Al-Sadder the martyr, or Al-Hakeem, or the Al-Da'awa Party martyrs…
This is a catastrophic speech!
This is a speech that can ignite a civil war…
All those whom he mentioned in his speech of Saddam's victims are only the Shia'ats. This is a speech provoking violence, opening wounds, and strengthening the wish of revenge in the victim's kin.
As if he is saying: Saddam is a Sunnie, and his victims were all Shia'ats. Now, we avenged them.
If he had one iota of brains, an iota of understanding, an iota of patriotism, of love to Iraq and the people of Iraq, he should have said: The execution of Saddam isn't equal to one drop of blood from any Iraqi who was the victim of Saddam's injustice.
That would have been enough.
This would have been a speech of a patriotic man, of the head of a national unity government which really wants to save the country from what it is in.
But he rather proved he is the head of a sectarian, spiteful, disjointed government, with a losing speech, far removed from the pulse of the street, caring nothing for it, caring nothing of the bloodshed, and doesn't want to put an end to it….
I felt sad and disappointed; Iraq is surly walking to a pit, under the rule of these losing leaderships, who didn't realize yet the catastrophe that has befallen Iraq and the Iraqis, this leadership is heedless to the fate of the country and its people, thinking with the brains of an ant, seeing only what is small and limited.
So now the fate of Iraq is in the hands of those vicious who live under the motto: We came for revenge?
I always said, and still say; that Iraq needs leaderships like Nelson Mandela, who establish the culture of forgiveness and forgetting the past, who put the interests of the country before their own, who forget their personal grieves and hatreds, and grow above them, in order for peace to prevail in the country, in order for the Iraqis to reconcile and unite.
As for those fools who are ruling in Iraq now, they are destroying the country and tearing its people apart, whether they know it or not. But in the end they are serving the occupation, presenting to it, on a silver plate, a broken country, a torn-up people, and someone begging the occupation, with all submissiveness and humility: Do not move out!
Of course, why would he move out?
Because if the occupier moves out, then the people will throw them into the garbage; the people do not want such leaders; backwards, sectarians who pushed the country back into the dark ages, who killed its people, robbed its wealth, destroyed its economy, and pushed it into a dark tunnel, carrying it towards an unknown, dark future as well…
Iraq should be led by cultured men and women, nationalists, without sectarian mentalities, only the love of Iraq, its people, and its interest. That should be their urge.
Do they exist?
Yes, Iraq is full with thousands of them, but the government of Bush, and those retard leaderships who came with it do not allow them to appear on the stage, so, they were killed and displaced, so the ugly faces would remain in the forefront.
Who brought on those faces? And who handed them the authority, and made them the decision makers?
The elections and the constitution?
All these were false and illegal, manufactured by the occupier, and now we saw what it has exuded; the destruction, and the bloodshed…
This is not what the Iraqis want. These leaderships aren't our ambition after all the agonies we saw.
These leaderships are worst then Saddam Hussein.
Saddam used to terrorize us with his security institutions, but at least no one kidnapped our sons or our cars, and no one raided the houses of innocent people to kidnap them or spill their blood on the streets without a cause.
The country was secure and safe…
And now?
Destruction, ruin, bloodshed spread, and lying, too!
They say Iraq was liberated, that it has a national-unity government, and its future is shiny, happy, and like honey.
At the time of Saddam there were some who cried for us, and consoled us. Now, they are killing us, destroying the future of our children, and then send false stories about us: that the Iraqi people are building a young democratic country…
Ha,ha,ha…hello…
Where is that young structures?
I see nothing but a destroyed country, and terrified, thwarted people, exhausted by calamities, who are calling for help, and calling, but no one is answering….
As if the whole world has gone deaf…
****************************
At the peak of my sadness and frustration, while I was at my friend's house, Bush appeared on TV in the evening, and said: The world became a better place without Saddam Hussein…
I fell into laughter… I said to my friend: listen, everything is perfect, everything is better than it was, but we- the Iraqis- do not comprehend, and do not appreciate the miracles that Bush brought to Iraq…
***************************
Sunday and Monday passed slowly, boringly, I wished I could go out of the house and walk around in Baghdad, but it was still a curfew because of Saddam's trial, and the bad security conditions.
We read on the subtitles at the Iraqi TV stations that the people of Adamiyah are calling for help from the government, demanding the stopping of the mortar shelling on the neighborhood. The government says it doesn't know the source of the shelling.
People were calling for medical help, and blood donations for the victims…
Two days later, mortar shells landed on Al-Kadimiyah, Al-Sha'ab District, Bad Al-Mua'adam, and on Adamiyah too.
And still the government does nothing…
A week later, while I was in Amman, I saw on one of the Iraqi TV stations, the meeting of the parliament with the Iraqi Defense Minister, and when they asked him about the source of the mortar shells that are landing on residential areas and killing innocent civilians, he said that- speaking militarily, we cannot pinpoint the location precisely, because the shelling could be operated from a pickup track, shooting the target, than moving on. And after a discussion with the parliament he said: we do not have the instruments that can locate the source of firing, but the coalition forces have them…
Well then, asks the poor Iraqi citizen: and what exactly is your job, you and the blessed coalition forces? Didn’t you sit upon the chairs and take over the authority under the pretext of protecting Iraqi civilians?
Where are the protection plans?
What have you done to stop the Iraqi blood flow?
Each of you is throwing the responsibility upon another, blaming him for the failure?
Grief increased in my heart for what is happening to Iraq and its people… my conviction grew that, the conditions of Iraq will never be mended until these deformed shapes are removed from the responsibility positions.
Iraq needs faithful leaders who can achieve security and settlement for the country, and not for a bunch of meek followers, who act according to the occupier's orders, and cannot protect their country, and their people…..
***************
23:00 Posted in War & Peace: Pieces of War: | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Time
I know not from where I came
I know not to where I go
From a past of dark and light
to a future of hope and might
Throught a trail of winding lessons
to a path of unknown questions
We can never return to what was
for it has changed to what wasn't
Eve
22:52 Posted in Life | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
From Baghdad: Posted by Faiza Al-Arji
Peace be upon you…
I continue talking about my trip to Baghdad. It is Friday, and every Friday in Baghdad there is a curfew. People stay in their houses watching TV and listening to news. At lunch time I asked my friend; how do you manage buying your groceries, fruits and the household needs? She said- we got used to buying everything on Thursday afternoon.
The gas bottle of the cooker was empty. There were no gas vendors today. How much does changing the gas bottle cost? I asked with curiosity…
She said: 17,000 Iraqi Dinaars. I gasped…
It was 500 I.D. Two years ago.
My friend laughed and said: Oh, that was long ago, now is something else.
Very well, and the gasoline?
Now, a can of 20 liters is sold for 10,000 I.D. on the street (commercial sales, not governmental). I told her; we used to buy it for 2000 I.D. on the street two years ago.
Well, what about the salaries, have they changed? You are an employee of the state; did your salary change since two years?
She said: of course not…
I kept staring at her…
So, how do people live? No new jobs, no new projects that would create employment opportunities, and that with a job goes without a change in his salary. The private sector employers are being killed every day; merchants, company owners, and shop owners. The number of unemployment is increasing. So, how do people live? How can they spend for their families?
She looked at me, laughed, and turned her hands, as if saying: I don't know!
So, I said to her, the men have nothing available for them but to work with kidnapping and robbery gangs, and killing militias, for those would find someone to pay them fat salaries…
She shook her head, and smiled bitterly…
I smiled with her and said: Oh yes, this is the new Iraq that Bush created….
******************************
This friend of mine; the companion of my childhood and studying days, I never knew before whether she was a Sunnie or a Shia'at, ever.
I swear by Allah the Mighty that we lived long years together, until each of us got married and life separated us, then I traveled to live outside Iraq, and all the while I had no idea whatsoever of her sect.
Now, a short while ago I learned that her son's name is Omar, a Sunnie name. She fears very much for him, so she issued a second identity card for him, bearing another name, to protect him from the death gangs on roadblocks, those who kill people according to identity cards.
And that is what we reaped out of the occupation policies, and its new constitution, which is full of poison.
I am supposed to be a Shia'at, and this is my enemy- a Sunnie, according to what Bush publishes about the civil war.
Where is the hatred in my heart against her?
Where is the hatred in her heart against me?
The whole house; her husband, her son and his wife, and her daughter, all run to supply my requests, putting the best food in front of me, and they don't eat with me, shyly. They left their master bedroom to me, while she and her husband slept in another room.
I was so embarrassed by their generosity, and felt very sad for the conditions in which they live, for they do not deserve what is happening to them- the daily killings, violence, and terror.
And there is no light at the end of the dark tunnel, until now….
**************************
Saturday came on…
I was waiting for my relative to come with his car; I wanted to see my friends and neighbors…
We moved again to the 14th of Ramadan St., it was very crowded, why? I asked him.
He said: there is only one check point at the end of the street, all the side streets are closed, so traffic is compulsory through that point.
Oh well… I remained eager to see what's in that check point, my dear.
We reached the checkpoint; there was an Iraqi soldier, very slim figured, like a sparrow, about 18 or 19 years old, carrying an old Kalashnikov from the days of my grandfather. He was leaning on the concrete wall, gesturing with his hand at cars to pass.
I asked my relative: Is that it? This is the security plan for Baghdad and the check points?
He said: Ay! And what did you expect?
I said: What if we were carrying explosives? How would this kid discover us?
This is a joke!
Cars pass by, I look at faces, fearing them, and perhaps they too fear us. Horror controls the city streets and its residents… and there is nothing seriously real on the ground to improve the conditions of the Iraqi Army to become able to handle the security agenda.
*************************************
First, I went home; there were some women I knew who were coming with their children to clean the house.
I found Um Mohammed (Mohammed's mother) waiting for me. She lives in Abu Ghareeb, a poor, humble woman. She used to clean our house twice a week when I used to live in Baghdad.
I got out of the car, hugged her and cried. She cried also…
Um Raid? I cannot believe my eyes! She said, wiping her tears.
I kept laughing and crying, I don't know, my feelings were mixed. I couldn't believe I was seeing the people I loved again.
Her kids came to greet me… I was very happy. I forgot the fear.
We entered the house together; I gave them the instructions to clean.
Clean the carpets, roll them, and put them in the storage room.
Dust the furniture and cover it with cloth sheets.
Wash the small ornaments and put them in boxes.
Clean the computers and store them in boxes.
I went out to visit my brother's, then get back home again.
My sister-in-law was surprised to see me; she couldn't believe I was there!
What brought you? She said in panic.
I laughed and said: I missed Baghdad.
Are you crazy? She said, looking around her, unbelievingly…
I asked her- where is my brother?
He went to repair his car, she said…
I found her wearing black, I remembered that her sister's husband was killed shortly before; I kissed her, consoled her, and sat to listen to the details…
They stopped him at a false roadblock In Al-Add'el District. He was a Shia'at who lived there all his life. They asked for his identity card, then got him out of the car. The man disappeared, and a few days later they found his body in a Sunnie area (in Adamiyah).
Two days later, the same thing happened to his brother, who was kidnapped then his body was dropped at another area.
When we finished the burial and the funeral house, my sister decided to live in Al-Khadimiyah with her other sister. She went back again to Al-Add'el District in a taxi to get the transfer papers for her children's school. The taxi stood waiting for her in front of the school. She came out to find he was killed and his brain scattered. Someone took his identity card and read it, then killed him because he was a Shia'at. The driver's kin came forth, and accused my sister of collaborating to kill him, but she showed them the death certificate of her husband, the Shia'at, who was killed the same way, so they left her.
I remained stunned… what is this life?
And what is the meaning of all this?
I asked her: where did these criminal militias come from, who finances them? Who is the beneficiary out of their work? Is there really a sectarian civil war?
She said: do you believe these lying stories? We were dislodged from our house in Al-Ghazaliya because we are Shia'ats, and a Sunnie family, dislodged from another district, came to live in our house. We spoke with them by phone, they said they will take care of the house, and sent us some of our winter clothes. There is no hatred between the Sunnies and the Shia'ats; we were all hurt, dislodged from our houses, our men were killed on sectarian roadblocks. These sectarian militias are destroying Iraq now, killing the people, and they came with the Parties which came on board the tanks with the occupation. Those Parties are now in the government, and they do not think or work but for their own interests, protected by the occupier.
The Iraqis say that when the occupier leaves, these Parties and militias will leave with him, for then, no one will protect them. And now, as you see, the occupier is also the winner out of this mess, for it gives him a strong excuse to keep the armies, under the justification of protecting the Iraqis.
No one is protecting us, no one cares for us, everyone seeks his own interests, and the Iraqi people are the victims, and the losers.
I heard this same talk over and over from a lot of the Iraqis I spoke with all the duration of my stay in Baghdad.
There were some other women present…one of them said: Tomorrow is Saddam's trial…
I said: so what?
She said: there will be tension, a curfew, demonstrations, and mortar shells.
I kept staring, I didn't understand.
She said: they will all express their opinions, the supporters and the non-supporters…
We laughed…
I kissed my brother's wife and said good bye. I didn't see my brother; only spoke with him on the phone.
***********************
The mother of one of Majid's friends called; she is a doctor, and her husband is a university professor. I love her very much. I discovered she was a Sunnie also.
Ha, ha, ha…
All my friends and dear ones are Sunnies.
This is contradictory with Bush's terrible stories about Iraq and the war of sects.
She said: we will come to take you to the restaurant for lunch.
I asked: and is the way safe? Is the restaurant safe?
She said: by God it is a risk, but the boys have been locked in the house for a long time, and they say we want to see untie Um Majid, and have lunch with her…
I laughed, and accepted the risk.
Seeing the people I love is worth taking a risk…
So, they will come at one o'clock, noon, to take me to the restaurant.
*************
I went back home, to find it beautiful, clean and tidy. The women washed and tidied everything.
I was so happy.
I sent one of their children to buy lunch, juice and water for them. It was lunch time, and their houses were far. I gave them money, and a lot of my clothes and my sons', that were in the closets. What is the meaning of keeping these clothes in closets waiting for our return, and these poor people need them?
I said goodbye, then went to say hello to the neighbors. They received me with hugs and kisses; Oh, my dear Um Raid? How are you and the boys?
I sat with them for a while.
They complained about the bad conditions, the fear, and the daily terror.
I said to them: we hear everything, we feel for you, pray to God to ease your distress, and we do all we can to tell the world what is happening to you.
Their kids came along and gathered around me, some were drinking a can of juice, others were eating potato chips. They were laughing.
I was surprised by their innocence… I told them- I will take you a picture.
They gathered around me again, I took each picture and showed it to them, they would move closer, see the picture, burst into laughter, and then move away.
My heart laughed with them.
I envied them their innocence, for not realizing what catastrophes are happening daily around them.
Their ages weren't above five years.
They wore beautiful, colorful pajamas; yellow, pink and red. Boys and girls…
They were laughing in a way that opened my heart, and made me forget the concerns of Iraq…
I said goodbye to my neighbors, and went to the restaurant…
***********************
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Peace be upon you…
I want to continue my talk about my visit to Baghdad…
I arrived on Thursday afternoon, my relative received me, and he was supposed to take me directly to my friend's house in Dragh District, Al-Mansoor, but when we passed by the neighborhood where I used to live, I asked him to stop to see our house. He hesitated, saying that the security conditions were bad, and the area isn't safe… I begged him, telling him I will not be long; just get a quick look on the house.
He called the guard who keeps the house keys, and asked him to come immediately…
The car stopped by the house; I got off to walk with fear and caution. I looked at the baker's shop near the house and asked about it; he said it was closed since about a year. And the little grocer's shop? Closed too, was the answer.
I moved about, and found the car mechanic's workshop was the only one open. I greeted him; Do you remember me? I asked…
He smiled and said: welcome, yes, I remember you.
How is the neighborhood, I asked; is it safe?
No, he said: it is no longer safe. Two days ago they assassinated a university professor in the street over there, in the morning when he was leaving his house, and he died instantly… and always there are sudden armed attacks, by gangs who come from outside the neighborhood, who carry out assassinations and run away…
I was disturbed, and my heart clenched…
I said to him: can we sit inside the workshop while we wait for the house keys?
He said: of course, be my guests…
I entered the workshop; there were mechanical equipments for repairing car tire's punctures. Where is the chair? There was a chair with an oil-soaked piece of sponge on it- motor oil! I turned it around, and found it was the same from both sides. I smiled; who cares?
I was wearing a new clean suit which I bought for my trip when I was in Amman…but here, I do not care… who cares for elegance and cleanliness when death is hovering in every direction?
The key came along, I was very worried as I stood at the front door waiting for them to try the keys. I stared at every passing car, imagining a gang would stop by, open fire at us, and run away.
My heart was beating, the beat getting faster…
Cars pass by; bearing a man and a child, or a man and a woman. I breathe again with a sigh. But I cringe when I see a car with a group of men in it. I keep staring at their faces, worried, until they move away.
In Amman, I used not to care who passes in front or behind me, but here, things are different. Caution is needed, even though we believe that all is in God's hands, but caution is needed.
************************
I walked slowly on the garage's flagstones, and looked sadly at the small, deserted garden, its white chairs covered with dust… I entered the house through the kitchen door; and was struck by the sight of the dust on the table and its chairs. All my life I have never seen this thick an amount of dust on the furniture. I entered the house, and walked around the lounge, I found the furniture has been left as it was. My husband was the last to leave the house, and even though I told him to lift the carpets and cover the furniture, I discovered that he left everything as it was, as if he was planning to get back in an hour's time… dust lay on the small side tables and their covers, on the various small ornaments near the dinning table. Electricity was off, and darkness shrouded the house. I moved closer and stared at things, and memories fell over; this is a small bell from Lebanon, this is a wooden elephant from India, this is a small enameled box from Iran. I looked at the guest's room; lying under the dust that covered the beautiful lace pieces on the small wooden side tables. Everything's sight was deformed by the dust. There was a small round table in the corner, on it stood a nice table lamp which I remembered just now, with a satin tablecloth and a Chinese ornament. I remembered everything now, when? And where did I buy it?
I looked at the wall; there were some pictures hanging, some with Quranic calligraphy, others with drawn beautiful flowers…all covered with dust….
There is the settee, the TV set, with a ton of dust on it, my books on the shelves, full of dust, and my son's photos, covered with dust…
I went upstairs and opened the bedrooms. Dust covers the beds, mattresses, pillows and blankets in a sad way, the boys' studying desks, the dressing table with its mirror, and the carpets, all covered with thick dust… red dust, telling of the sand storms that invaded Baghdad while I was gone.
I walked the corridor into the study; I saw the desk topped with dust, all over my books, papers and pens.
I felt sad, and felt how heavy the sadness is on my heart.
I walked out silently, quietly. My relative walking behind me, also silent, without a word. I stood at the top of the marble and wood staircase in the center of the house, and looked down at my son Khalid's computer downstairs; he left the loudspeakers on the sofa, and the camera fixed on the screen, everything in its place as if the people of the house will be back in a short while, and dust covered all of these.
I looked at the big chandelier in the middle of the house, and found that dust marred its brilliance and beauty too…
I gave the whole house a sweeping sorry glance. I remembered the war, the chaos, robberies, thefts and assassinations, the immigration of my brother, the owner of the house; a doctor, his fear for himself and his family, my leaving my former house to this one here because the old one was in an area near the Airport Road, the heart of the battle against the occupation, with daily explosions, and broken window glass.
Then I remembered the story of my son Khalid's kidnapping from university, his arrest, being put at the Interior Ministry for twelve days accused of terrorism, for nothing more than having a beard! How this family endured these difficult days, then they let him go because he was innocent, and because we paid a ransom for him, and decided to leave Iraq, like thousands of families did, before and after us…
I remembered how the family separated; Khalid studying at a university outside Amman, I see him once a week, Majid studying in Cairo, Raid lives in America to work for Iraq, and I work with different organizations to help the devastated and the displaced from Iraq.
I started to burst into tears. My relative came to consol me; Are you crying for the furniture? Because of the dust? Tomorrow, a woman will come to clean the house…
I told him through my tears: No, I do not cry for the furniture, let it go to hell. I cry for my country which was shattered, my family which scattered, the Iraqis who were killed, the blood that was shed, and the devastation that spread. All the Iraqis are like me, what happened to them also befell me….
I kept crying bitterly, but he dragged me, and removed me out of the house in spite of me, so I would be quiet….
*****************
I got to my friend's house, and put down my suitcases. She received me warmly, and gave me her room.
I said to her: I do not want to feel guilty; you and your husband sleep in the lounge, and I occupy your room?
She refused to listen to me, saying she was happy I was there.
I found that she has prepared a meal for me. I was very hungry; I didn't eat since morning… I ate with an appetite, smelling the aroma of the Iraqi food in everything, especially the yogurt, pickles, and then- the Kebabs…
Since when I haven't tasted the Iraqi Kebabs?
I am not normally a heavy eater, usually my appetite is slim, but I was happy I was tasting the food of my beloved Baghdad, that I was at my friend's house; my studying colleague since the days of the Collage of Engineering, Baghdad University. She loves me and treats me like my kin.
Where are my kin?
We were eight brothers and sisters, before the war.
I now have one sister and one brother, and the rest left Iraq after the war.
I called my sister; she lives in Al-Saydiyah District. We exchanged greetings and questions warmly. Then she invited me to have dinner at her house on Saturday, but my relative who was accompanying me refused, saying that was a dangerous area, and my friend, whom I was staying with, warned me also…
Then my sister called on Saturday, and told me not to come, the situation there was dangerous…
I cancelled the visit, and didn't go to see her. We kept talking by phone……
What life is this?
People cannot move from one district to another inside Baghdad?
***********************************
I slept the first night to the noises of scattered gunshots, getting nearer, then further, and mortar shells, which I didn't hear for two years. But I was happy to be smelling the air of Baghdad, and sleeping in the arms of Baghdad.
www.picturesinbaghdad.blogspot.com
I cant stand up in the street to pick a picture
the situation is very dangerous, so, most of my pictures were inside homes or from the car window, when I was out.
some of the pictures were not clear when I used my cell phone camera , it was not perfect as normal camera
all my best
faiza
07:44 Posted in War & Peace: Pieces of War: | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Friday, November 17, 2006
As always.....
23:23 Posted in Unbridled Spirit | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this