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A sweet music,
(its sweetness does not console you)
The days have taught you:
In every long wara soldier, with a distracted face
a soldier, with a distracted face
and ordinary teeth
sits next to his tent
holding his bright -sounding harmonica
which he’s carefully protected
from dust and blood,
and like a good bird
uninvolved in the conflict,
he sings to himself
a love song
that does not lie.
For a moment,
he feels embarrassed at what the moonlight might think:
what’s the use of a harmonica in hell?
A shadow approaches,
then shadows,
the soldiers, one after the other,
join him in the song.
The singer takes the whole regiment with him
to Romeo’s balcony,
and from there,
without thinking,
without mercy,
without doubt,
they will resume the killing!
Translated by Radwa Ashour
Excerpts
from Midnight,
a book- long poem published in 2005
*Published in the TIMES LITERARY
SUPPLEMENT, LONDON
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