Arak

I raised my head on the rampart,

my gaze fell on a corpse drifting down the river, afloat on the water:

I too shall become like that, just so shall I be!

The heart feels pain.

Names are being written upon water

or are traced upon the sands.

Carvèd stones turn to dust

and the vainglories of old are but all forgotten.

Words befuddle memories,

dreams stupefy our impressions and make history.

Seldom rivers disgorge the interred kings of yore;

oftener men determine the rightful

in full fathom five of water.

the wronged are doomed to sail silently to the sea –

the laws of nature and of men equally distrustful.

He who watches rivers exposes himself to such doubt.

And all our visions are frustrated

bewildered

and we come to wander the wild

for we fear death.

The heart, must I remind thee, deals pain

to whoever listens to the beatings

at the dark of the dark of night,

when love has absconded for the day.

The shaking of my hands

stopped on the grip the rampart.

I need an istikan of arak.