The picture of the Jack in the Playing Cards
Adeeb Kamal Ad-Deen
For: Dr. Hasan Nadhem
In his childhood
He sat in the street begging for a mother.
In his boyhood
He sat in the café opposite to the cemetery
Begging for a father.
In his youth
He sat at History leafing the years
Begging for a grandfather.
When he grew aged
He remembered that he had never played cards.
He gambled so as to lose everything
To lose the street, the café, the History,
The childhood, the boyhood and the youth.
After his horrible loss,
He checked his pockets under the big setting sun.
The picture of the Jack,
Perhaps was hidden by Time into his torn pockets
The boy was nice-looking.
When the boy grew older
Said the boy:
For he knows that the air is not fresh
But he does not utter a word
And he knows that the chariot only goes back
But does not raise the street behind it.
The boy said
It is said that the boy is a heresy.
The boy is confusion.
Where to go now?
Was the boy dreaming or talking nonsense?
Or was I the one who was dreaming and talking nonsense?
Was the boy really in the playing cards?
Or was it a playing with the picture of the Jack?
Which one of us is the boy, which one of us is the father?
Is the boy really the prince?
And I say just one word:
The boy is all that is left for me
After I lost everything.
The boy is the exile
The exile that I see now from my royal veranda
Which is surrounded by fire, curses
And the naked masses of people.
The exile that I see now
The exile whose stones roll on
With great slowness and pain.
1.Arabic letter 2. Arabic letter
( T M)
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