-I-
The wave of sycophancy
that is sweeping
across the country
on this eve of the great
celebration
of the memory
of a dark
and dire event
in our contemporary history,
I must say,
with all due honesty,
sickens
me.
Yes, it sickens me.
For what is this “Glorious”
Movement
but a mere change
in the name of the tyrant,
while tyranny itself, while infamy
infect our lives still -
that the best of our men
and
women,
who continuously speak
of revolution, justice and morality,
their minds diseased with fear
and hypocrisy
for the love of God,
for the love of country,
for
the love of family,
have taken to transforming
our slavery,
in
words,
to a triumph of the
human spirit,
to an affirmation of human
freedom,
and dignity.
Dignity?
How deeper yet
can we sink
into infamy?
How sicker yet
can I expect
to get?
-II-
Elsewhere,
in some other country,
fireworks
are always dazzling.
But here,
in good old Damascus,
no one is
dazzled by them.
Elsewhere,
on such an occasion,
there will be a
popular rejoicing
in the streets.
But here,
in good old Damascus,
no one
is rejoicing.
The people are not a in
celebratory mood,
it seems,
on this Glorious
Occasion.
Everybody,
everywhere,
is going about his
business,
with an air of indifference.
And video-rentals
will definitely
increase
this evening,
and a few more satellite dishes
will get
installed by then,
as the people will try
to avoid
the official
talking-heads
commemoration
of a day
whose
importance lies only
in that little piece of macabre reality
that is the continuing conspiracy
against the freedom
of my people.
-III-
I try to phone you,
but the lines are tangled
the lines are always tangled
in this third world
country;
the Glorious Movement,
it seems,
has not effectively touched yet
the communication system.
And we just have to wait and see.
I try to go over
to your place,
but instead,
I get stuck in
the elevator
for two hours.
The Glorious Movement,
it seems,
has not been sufficiently extended yet
to
the power company.
And we just have to wait and see.
I go back home
and try to splash some water
on my face,
but
unsurprisingly,
there is no running water
in my apartment today.
The Glorious Movement,
it seems,
has not yet delved, deeply enough,
into
the problems of the water supply.
And we just have to wait and see.
So now I am lying in my bed,
with a thousand murderous
thoughts
crowding up in my head,
knowing
that there will be
no killing,
of course,
but I am
quickly developing
a second ulcer.