Here is the twentieth century in its long dim hall with murderers and conjurers sitting at its table in the flickering candlelight of their victory waiting for their meal. The waiters come out one by one from their hidden corners balancing dishes of darkness on their heads to serve their guests.
They will all drink from the same bottle watch the evening fall among the trees. Parades of drunken soldiers wave their bloody flags and march down the street.
Through the window the moon will soon shine.
When they finish their feast we will sit at that same table and drink the same wine too.
Translated by the author and Khaled Mattawa and reprinted from Banipal No 6. -- Yoshie <http://montages.blogspot.com/> <http://mrzine.org> <http://monthlyreview.org/>