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The psalms of the dead sailor
for my nephew Petra Bayrami who loves this poem
I found a dead sailor in my garden
he seemed quite happy he was dead: with no resurrection at sight
Are you dead?
It was getting cold and dark
I helped him in
and offered him some coffee and cigar
he said he wasn’t allowed to drink or smoke
it was bad for his cholesterol
How do you feel?
Nothing, I can’t feel nothing…don’t you see, I am dead?
Are you real?
As death itself!
I sailed with Gaules and Britons years before I was born
With our cannon balls and a bit of hatred
We wiped out the enemy’s cavalry squadron
at the Hispanic shores of their territory
The fourth summer we stayed in Bohemia
I married to the sweet lady Domitia
She poisoned me in the garden of lust
That’s how you died then?
No, I was born dead
There was no resurrection at sight
I grew bored and went after sorting out irrelevant things
We set foot on the inland on the 27th day of the month of rains.
Will you be around, when I am born?
There is no resurrection at hand.
He carried a bow and arrow.
“To shoot birds!” he said
“In case they want to poke me in the eye…”
Are you dead?
Yes I just began to live dead
Then we heard the cocks crow
The sailor folded his bow and arrow
neatly put them in his pocket
He thanked me for hospitality and said: “I’ll be back tomorrow.
I could have offered you some facts, but it is too late now
All that we love and admire are to be confined
like men with no name or fame, in oblivion.”
Is there a resurrection at hand?
Will you be around when I am born?
All questions will be answered in due time…
Photo by Bahram Bahrami