Mahmoud Darwish


I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theatre

I have a seat in the abandoned theatre
in Beirut. I might forget, and I might recall
the final act without longing . . . not because of any thing
other than that the play was not written
skillfully . . .
Chaos
as in the war days of those in despair, and an autobiography
of the spectators’ impulse. The actors were tearing up their scripts
and searching for the author among us, we the witnesses
sitting on our seats.
I tell my neighbor the artist: don’t draw your weapon,
and wait, unless you are the author!
- No.
Then he asks me: and you are you the author?
- No.
So we sit scared. I say: be a neutral
hero to escape from an obvious fate.
So he says: no hero dies revered in the second
scene. I will wait for the rest. Maybe I would
revise one of the acts. And maybe I would mend
what the iron has done to my brothers.
So I say: it is you then?
He responds: you and I are two masked authors and two masked
witnesses.
I say: how is this my concern? I’m a spectator.
He says: no spectators at chasm’s door . . . and no
one is neutral here. And you must choose
your part in the end.
So I say: I’m missing the beginning, what’s the beginning?