I only follow a trajectory
as moments pitch their tents invisibly.

It goes against all social norms,
the laws of physics, common sense,
the thing that I must swallow
and await.

Iíve seen this place,
the lost child at the bar,
the one the panicked motherís searching for.

Here I speak: Donít turn this corner!
But you go along with your mistakesó
the exits missed, the sudden curbs,
oncoming cars. And now Iím cursed.
Let me do it even if we crash.

Is it a power at all
if what will be will be?

A gypsy who belongs to no clear place
but in the ousted caravans
of used cars, donkeys, anything cast off.

The cards that spread
a king above the seven swords.

The chandelier that falls over the crib.

The clock that breaks down at the hour of four.

She looks at me as if Iíd gone berserk.

Before the man can show his fatal sneeró
as soon as possible ó Iím outta here.

Siham Karami

If you have any comments on this poem, Siham Karami would be pleased to hear from you.