Aida Naji

Then a bitter curse rose up on his tongue and he cried out: “although in this entrapping pit there is no fated hope
of the dawn,
for the victor of the cheap and draining wars the dawn
is a dangerous thing
and such a vast one:
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born upon the dark spear · selected poems
to be recognized
and to be passed along on the hands and tongues, and the masses snarling
such that (“there goes the victor
and there the victor’s commander!”)
if the disgrace comes not from the masses
well then what can be done with the disgrace of oneself?
As a consequence, before the night turns toward daylight I must
traverse this abyss of horror and distress.”
And then he stepped from the boat which was a nightmarish combination
of a bed and a coffin and
unafraid of the volatile restlessness of the waves and tides. Thus he leaned the oar
against the water’s rim and the boat
with fluidity glided across the dark sea,
fluid and agile as if it were a coffin
carried on a thousand hands ...
I
was left standing alone and perplexed on the low breakwater
all around which every stone-ridge
was silence and consent.