A poem by Aya Nabih and translated from Arabic by Sara Elkamel
The postman will keep delivering empty envelopes
As long as his feet insist on taking routes
Sabotaged by letter bandits.
Unfortunately for us, when he does select a safer route,
The hands will have trembled as they wrote.
We will keep ignoring the street signs,
Because they are quicksand, pulling
And shoving towards oblivion.
We deafen our ears to the music;
It penetrates them all the same.
Each of us will keep foraging for salvation
As the other steers clear,
afraid to stall his own expedition
Until the void devours one of us.
All he can do is turn off the music,
To prevent the documentation of loss.