In the room
On the roof terrace facing the sea,
The retired pirate prepares his meal –
Half a loaf of bread
A slice of meat
A bottle of vodka …
He shuts his door firmly
And from his ebony box he takes out his ledgers
His maps
His harbors.
Now he is happy
And alone.

But the chest tattles
And the eyes are small clouds.
 
Who knocks on the door?
Who comes here following him to this room on the roof?
The retired pirate closes his ebony box
And the secrets of his ledgers
His maps
His harbors
And staggers a few steps to drink up the scent of the sea.

Could it be the blind one knocking on the door?
The blind one in the form of a woman
Coming to befriend him at the moment his age is sealed?

Beirut 14.4.1993