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Poem No.: 450 النص العربي: لا يوجد

For: Abdul Razaq Ar- Rubai


The superstition has expended

To comprise all of us, all of us.

The fancy-dress party has been completed.

You, my sharp letter, and I have chosen

The role of the naked

Not because we only like to be naked

But because we have no clothes.

Even if we were given some used tatters.

Who would assure us that we could wear

What would cover our bodies

After this amazing nakedness?


The superstition has expended.

* Our babies are in the cradle, who cares for them?

- Allah does.

* And our griefs are in the cradle, who cares for them?

- The whip does.

* And our superstitions are in the letter, who cares for them?

- The uselessness does.

* My stupid letter, It is vainness!

The superstition has expended

And bought an umbrella for its bored dreams

And gone out naked down the streets

Followed by all the fools of the world.


The superstition has expended.

(Who are you? Where do you come from?)

The inquirer asked.

Staring into his eyes, I was terribly amazed.

(Who are you? Where will you go?) The inquirer asked.

I grew puzzled and my eyes welled with tears.

(Who are you? Where will you die?)

I looked at my corpse: it is still hot.

So, I cried.


The superstition has expended.

In the capitals where the Iqal* and swimsuit are worn

We have searched, for our griefs, new exiles.

The friends escaped from us.

They left us to be eaten up in the desert.

The superstitions expended…expended.

Even I, who carried my letter as a cross,

In the middle of capitals,

Cried and sang

Sang and prayed

Prayed and spent the night in prayer

I looked around and saw nobody to help me

To dig my grave

Only the dead

Who received me together with my corpse

In the waterfall of noisy laughter.


· iqal: a double-folded felt rope usually worn on the head by Arabs.

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