The Angel of Death

I

These bones

one day shall rot

and worms shall be their king.

Meanwhile,

before I give up

and rot in the ground

I wish to fight

my fate: grind it underfoot

and crush it in a corner.

If I must surrender

and let Death sneer

then I would deliver my soul

forestalling It.

This body

they can grind it up

it can rot in the grave

but me

I shall always be free.

II

My dear

bring me that café au lait

while this moon is blooming bright.

Tune the radio

to whatever music

(even the official radio,

so we can hear a little its blatherings)

This comedy

will end one day

you and I

will be stretched underground!

But before the curtain closes

before this moon goes down

and our body turns carrion

—a few seconds remain—

come on, let’s have fun.

Bring me those red lips!

Amal Hamzah
tr. after Damais