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
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