I have nothing to do,
I have no desire to do anything,
I am unable to chase the fog,
I know the place around me and do not expect a surprise if I go out,
The familiar has become unfamiliar,
Being born under the rubble, dying from mustard gas,
And the same terrifying life…
All this because I did not draw, nor write, nor read,
I did not expect nor guess,
Without any feeling: no apprehension or intuition!
Yesterday I watched three cowboy movies,
And I wandered with them in the prairie and among the giant rocks,
The Indians with their painted faces crowned with feathers waited,
Coming down from behind the hills,
I heard a roar and the sound of intermittent gunfire, and a neighing,
And the melodies of a harmonica like the trotting of wild horses…
In the last hours of the night, I turned off the lights and went to sleep…
At dawn I was awakened by a train that passed quickly,
Whistled for a long time and disappeared,
And the solitary chirping of a bird in a nearby tree,
Chirped three times,
The first time, it awakened a light drizzle in the air,
The second, it awakened a lazy sky that revealed some of its blue,
And the third time, it opened the door of the house.
Painting by Amir Khatib
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