Samer is an Iraqi barber
he reeks of sweat and cheap cologne
the wretched scent of a homeland
he has long overgrown
Samer wanted to be a doctor
but his dream conflicted with a war
he was unfit for military service
because he didn’t know what he was fighting for
samer dreamt of being a doctor
but this massively conflicted
with his financial status quo
what a fate to be inflicted
Exiled to Lebanon
samer cut hair in Beurit
he lived his youth out in the 80’s
it was there he learned to shoot
for it took him years to own his shop
to have his name above the door
in the darkness, with a rifle
heâ??d lay huddled on the floor
for his dream of being a doctor
conflicted with a civil war
that he wanted only to survive
because he didnâ??t know what they were fighting for
and when the rubble settled
and his shop was filled with holes
he went back to Iraq
on the heels of his soles
and at the ripe age of 30
he wanted to be a doctor
but his dream conflicted with a war
so for months he lived in prison
for not knowing what he was fighting for
For months all he saw were bars
his whole life whittled down to this
all he saw were bars
he beat the walls down with his fists
until some fat men struck a deal
and he was an exile once again
deported from his homeland
time and time again
see his whole life
was one colossal contradiction
his mind kept telling him to leave
but his heart had such conviction
it never gave him time to grieve
such desire to return
samer beat his mind into submission
to alter gravity’s direction
he put his heart in its position
So after several hundred years
and several hundred hairs
in Amman he lived his 30’s in the 90’s
a decade on barber shop chairs
and every single day
the customers came in
they talked on and on and on
about how Iraqâ??s situation was grim
like a dagger to his heart
their words kept stabbing back at him
these wounds he could do without
but it was like the only subject matter
they could talk about
behind smoke screens of cigarettes
their words uninvited
with Turkish black coffee
their thoughts were shortsighted
Samer, who wanted to be a doctor
whose life conflicted with a war
Samer cut their hair in silence
because he didn’t know what they were fighting for
Years later he’d return
to see if he could create
a life for both his sons
to be doctors; to be great
though his city laid in ruins
and the streets they reeked of death
so impoverished were these people
newborns never had a second breath
see those fat men that cut a deal
they traded oil in for some food
which meant if you didnâ??t have an income
then you were pretty much screwed
and this broken man; this barber
he simply had to leave
the gravity of this situation
never gave him time to grieve
Samer left behind this life
His mind had overcome his heart
Tangled in such sorrow
Like a broken piece of art
Samer is an Iraqi barber
he reeks of sweat and cheap cologne
the wretched scent of a homeland
he has never overgrown
Samer cuts my hair
in a Toronto urban shop
mostly from the sides, just a little from the top
I come only to let him tell his story
to give him room to breathe
even when I donâ??t really need the cut
it gives him time to grieve
and on cold November nights
he says, in the company of his wife
his children and brother
his home and this life
on the TV, in the papers
thereâ??s talk about a war
he looks around this room
to remember what he’s fighting for
Samer
who wanted to be a doctor
whose life conflicted with a war
Samer
in his 40’s
who never knew
what all of this
was for