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  • صورة الكاتبملاك الراشد

The Seventh Room

The ending is water’

Whispered a crow,

As I step slow—Out, out of the asylum.

My body, which isn’t mine, dragged all way,

Needles falling on the grey floor,

Some I took off—

Others were inserted for too long.

Hideous as a monster;

The survivor of the one thousand years bloodshed

Finally managed an escape, with a book and papers’ shreds

At the end of the aisle of patients’ beds,

I know there is a staircase leading to an exit

I ran downward.

I am almost out;

I could smell the water and see its drips on the floor,

I dreamt that I felt the sands of the seashore touching my feet,

And that I saw the moulted feathers of gulls

Almost there, I thought!

A sea that shall wash the years of weep,

I dreamt of slipping among the river’s reeds,

With the palm of my hands covered in leaves—

I reach out,

But there come the thieves,

All is gone—gone, gone. A dream is gone.

They close the doors,

Catch the mad who tried to touch the shore!

I succumb. I am numb.

They locked me up in the Seventh Room,

A white room with an iron bed,

Pictures of previous patients hung on the wall,

A trained doctor and a saint came out of the door

I could never run even if I crawl.

Present as I am—in front of the ones who created me

The men of virtues—

They unwrap me,

Naked as I first came;

I had nothing to impress them with;

These are my hands

My pale skin, my faint hair;

Bare and unpolluted for their entertainment.

A woman of many others like I

A woman is never born anew. I cry.

They had me sewn together with a glue

Stitched up—with wires and threads,

I was made out of corpses’ skins

And fed lies in my dreaming beds

They gave me a name,

And taught me how to live in shame

I swallowed it whole.

They operate. I am paralysed.

Like a cadaver: only I see and hear.

Another animal experiment

The crowd shoves to see.

It’s done. I am re-soaked into the plague.

Or so they believe.

Five feet and four inches tall,

I inherited the nothingness—

I breathe oxygen and occupy space.

I exist. I exist. I exist.

I learned how to drink the poison

And not die—

The trick is one swallow at a time.

Shackles and pills

Do it smiling—do it until you become a hard rime.

Wired to my roof. Threaded to a man above,

They call him God. But I call him my puppeteer.

They called this a life, I call it an act.

Another chapter on stage.

I dream—

Chaos is voiceless.

I thrust back to the sea, the waves rise and swell,

They run to my lungs and fill me,

I could drown

I could possibly die!

But I exist—

Somewhere. Elsewhere. As a full moon.

All shall crack asunder

All shall dissolve in

And I shall end—

In water.


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