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Waiting for
the school bus,
watching
his breath turn into mist near his nose
in the
freezing morning,
the
schoolboy tries to make a fist
with no
success.
On the
pillow of regret,
the
defeated soldier
lazily
tries to get up,
he raises
his broken toothbrush
to his
teeth.
Early or
late,
the
stranger awakens in his exile, his homeland.
Their
costumes, their car number plates, their trees,
their
quarrels, their love, their land and sea
belong to
them.
His memory,
rats gathering on his doormat
that looks
new and warm
in front of
his closed door.
On a lonely
pillow
the mother
throws a quick glance
at the bed
of her elder son,
arranged
for the final time
and empty,
forever.
A voice,
from the neighbouring window is heard
– Hello,
good morning. How are you?
– Hello,
good morning. We are fine,
we are
fine!
Translated by Radwa
Ashour |