An Attempt to Tour


 Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen



For: Faisal Abdul Hasan






There are no dreams at the arena of Herculeses

Except the dreams to fly to the country of snow and mini wear

Except the dreams of antiquities smugglers and tears circulators

Except the dreams of Herculeses who built storeys of their bodies

In the middle of our great nudity

We, the nameless and addressless, became amazed

Without memory or faith



There are no birds at the arena of Herculeses

No love birds nor sparrows

No nightingales nor doves

Here, there are only some kinds of owls

And some parrots pretending to be bright

Here, there is loose music

Like a leash of a lost dog



I used to ask the faces and names:

Is there any way to some paradise beatenless

Is there any way to some paradise without smoke or fire,

Without demons or devils?

I used to ask and ask

But nobody has a question

And there is no question given by anyone

None has any question



The Dinars alone can talk

I wondered: the Great Hercules

The mountain and the sellers of live flesh remained silent

So did the women sellers of cigarettes

And the sellers of falafil* and the poets of tears café

An the women curators as well as the workless visitors of the library

The Dinars alone can talk

Talk, talk and talk

I wondered: everything became silent

Even the letters that I collect together with their dots

Did leave the arena of Herculeses

In great confusion.



* Falafil: A kind of food in the form of balls made of crushed peas and green



( TM)