* * *
I say go slow,
Wait for me,
pour wine in two glasses: one for me,
and one for the one who will come without appointment,
then I'd take a nap between two dreams,
until the drunkenness has dried in my glass.
I have no role in what I was or who I would be
to the others, but I wouldn't ask who
would fill what's missing in it.
I'd sit until noon alive at my desk
see the trace of color in the words,
This is chance and chance has no name,
see how my life goes before me,
In the memory of us.
"Re-interpreted M. Darwish's 'Remainder of a Life' and his own words for this piece in memory."