II

Give me a glass
To sip this emptiness

And an arm
To measure this separation

Prepare for me a bed
Of glass
So that my nightmares slip on

I don't want to read letters
Which do not stand before me
Like nails

I am going to give my hand to this dog
Coming to cut some of its fingers

I will leave a lot of blanks in my writings
So that this prostitute can saunter
As she pleases

(This is not a pen
But a pickaxe to destroy the poet
Who tyrannizes me)

Ants will walk behind my funeral
And I will leave my grave to someone
Who found nowhere to sleep
I will leave a lot of blanks in my writings
To lighten the darkness
Coming with the night of the words

I will leave a blank
For the day of your wedding

©2003, Abdallah Zrika

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