For: Faisal Abdul Hasan (1) 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 (2) 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 (3) 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 (4) 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