The poet can turn into a wolf
She said to them: look at the mountain so that you can see me
They looked at her so that they could see the mountain
And Damascus seemed closer whenever I told you about it
For the bodies that we see in the mirror seem closer than they really are
And those that carry our souls have gone very far away
And now must take the nearest means of transport to return
And so on . . .
The poet can turn into a wolf
If he thinks about the woman he loves in a systematic way
And may become a seat in a park if he is polluted by prose
The city can become a changing room backstage at a small theatre
In a town that nobody’s heard of for no convincing reasons
And I could also love you for no convincing reasons
Or could have met you five minutes before the man who touched your heart
If I’d had a passport that was recognised
These days
And you may be the only justification I can give the security man at the airport
For why I look thinner now than in my passport photo
And also all the words that I whispered in your ear could form a possible erotic poem
If they were picked up again and recycled in another woman’s ear
And I think there’s some hope for some hope
Since up to the date of the writing of this text, sensors in modern physics
Haven’t arrived at any convincing answers
Regarding the influence of the sound waves of your words in my ears
On poetry in the Middle East
And I could fall in love with you again
For history repeats itself, as Karl Marx says
And our house could welcome friends
Or our daughter could have your features and my eyes
And I could have not left Damascus that autumn evening in 2008
Which would mean we never actually met
And I would never be able to tell you that you seem closer whenever I talk to you about Damascus
Or whenever I talk to Damascus about you
For the bodies that we see in the mirror appear closer than they really are
And those that carry our souls have been eaten by a predator
Called the Mediterranean Sea.
Ghayath Almadhoun
Translated by: Catherine Cobham
