On The Half of The Ship That Has Not Yet Sunk By Hamdan Dammag On the half of the ship that has not yet sunk I passed by the corpses of those who knew not they are dead There was a poet smiling for the cameras at a boring book signing party, A husband dreaming of the death of his brunette mistress, A soldier lost his helmet somewhere in the long corridors, And a lady in her cabin dreaming of a wider window. I passed by a drunk Captain, shambling along with joy. There was lightning penetrating the sorrow of the walls, Some children sleeping on the edge of a black hole, And a violinist not knowing where he was. I passed by the corpses of the suicide genes, Creatures I have not seen before, A pile of meaningless withered flowers, And some politicians Fighting over a territorial map of waves… The waves that were swallowing the ship’s half… The half that has not yet sunk.