Listen Allen
I am on the curb and my cigarettes ran out
I open my eyes and close them
Sometimes I recall that night when we wiped the spit from the mouths of the dead
Then we descended the stairs together
And took a walk by the sea
The fan is rotating now
And I like to think that the air is a nice squirrel while I lean on myself in the corner
Witnessing my knee falling asleep
The fan is rotating now in my head Allen
And my mouth that looks like a newsstand
Is adorned with silence
Some teeth inside it dies like an animal
And one day I happened to discover patience under a tree
And I talked about the soul in a simple car
While we walk parallel to the river
The smoke Allen
The smoke, and beautiful rings
And on the other side, on the shore
The sand stands by itself
And sometimes the fish bring it a rock
To sit on
Is this a respectful scene?
In my hands a murdered day
And I want to bury it quietly
~Wadih Saadeh, trans. Maged Zaher