Translation by George Szirtes

English version by George Szirtes,
based on a literal translation from the Arabic by Khaled Aljbailli

How many nights of art, close study, hesitation and sacrifice,
at little or great expense, do you need to invent
the simplest of gadgets?
All you need to invent a tyrant is a single
bend of the knee.

* * *

No, he’s not a rhino, not a miracle,
in fact he may look like you. Or me.
Don’t be fooled. Those are not his claws
they are perfectly normal nails like yours.
Nor are those hooves, no,
they are his size eight, possibly
size nine, shoes.
He’s less heavy than you think. No, not a ton,
just the weight of an ordinary man,
say seventy or eighty kilos.
Is that his horn? No
it’s his smug little, snub little nose and, yes,
he might catch a cold like you and I.
He might even bleed.

* * *

When he takes his seat he doesn’t descend from heaven
on a cloud, no, he climbs up on our shoulders, yours and mine
and sits in the saddle of time dangling his legs,
two legs not six, if you care to check.
His mirror loves him. He loves his mirror. The love is mutual.
He adores the law. Any house he burns, anyone he kills,
any massacre he orders, is done in full accordance with the law.
Don’t insult your own intelligence
by hoping. Let that flame flicker, die, and unaccountably flicker again
while he’s in charge.

* * *

He regards even his tantrums as a sign of strength.
He would prefer us to be as water,
to see us stagnating at the bottom of the cup.
We must bow when he pours us out,
Not allowing a word to escape
and yet when we behaved like water as he intended
he raised his hands in mute appeal, astonished to be drowning.