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 ships half

The half that has not yet sunk.




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