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We were busy worshipping

words. Shipping worlds

through string. We held eardrums

to heartbeats to confirm

we were still alive. Someone unchained

the sun from its orbit. We watched it drift

like a curious child beyond the Oort cloud. Dimming

until it was another star in the night's freckles

and even the day lost its name. We looked

at our hands with unfamiliarity. Trying to understand

the opaqueness of texture. Our moulting bones

discarded. Our new elbows reptilian.

The latest language stripped of meter,

rhyme, beauty. We were warned: there are no straight lines in nature.

Women sang new myths. Men planted

numbers in the soil to see if the fruits

could solve our problems. We invented

new gods and crooned when we remembered

how to brush each other's hair. Music played

in a distant never. Insects danced

in a different hemisphere of our brain

or of the earth. We often tried to look up,

but we could only see our feet,

alien and hairless.


Yusuf Saadi

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Mira Rosenthal


translated from the Polish written by
Tomasz Różycki