The Silent Procession

By Fadhil Al Azzawi
Translated by Zeina Issa

Walking the streets
hands in my torn pockets
I saw them peering at me
from shopfront windows and cafes
then they hurried out, tailing me.

I stopped to light a cigarette
I turned, shielding the wind
with my back, glimpsed
at the silent procession of
thieves, kings, murderers,
prophets and poets
jumping everywhere
behind me
awaiting my cue.

Bewildered, I shook my head
moved on, whistling
a popular tune
pretending I am in a movie
and all I have to do is walk on and on
until the bitter end.