in the land of New Canaan.
Canaan doesn't even have a shroud.
Canaan has no honey.
Canaan has no milk.
No figs, no grapes.
not even iron.
Canaan
Stripped of its color.
of his voice
of his dream.
of his origin.
He is trapped in the pages of a newspaper.

From the beginning of the night, Canaan rested his head
Books chronicling the history of his glorious nation.
And Canaan sleeps and sleeps.
to dream that he is on a horse
waving the Yemenite sword and calling for obedience.
Canaan was
Lion of the Villa
the hero of time.
Canaan was
"Weyama was"

Canaan rises in the morning
high and thinks that what was
is this time.
He twirls his mustache
Canaan tilted the headband
Then Canaan put on eyeliner
He checked in the mirror that the outfit was complete.
And he went outside
He crossed the street to drink coffee, announcing the beginning of the day.
He was looking down from a height
towards herds of little humans.
wondering
how people can be so shrunken.
like a piece of old leather.
Canaan proceeded down the city streets
looking for hot coffee.
But he violated traffic regulations
and crossed the line.
He's not used to bowing to the rules.
He is not used to this submission.
The hounds immediately sprang into action
and went after him.
Their teeth grabbed the back of his scruff.
"Oh, children!"
A fire of archeological fervor erupted in his anguished belly and he shouted:
"Shut up, you damned dog!
I am the mighty lion.
I am the spear that does not bend.
I am the unrelenting sword."
A detective's slap
destroys the wiry mustache and throws the headband
on the ground, and over his forehead the slippers tread.
Quickly, he reached for the gun
He repeatedly felt the waist, but could not find the weapon.
In Canaan's long absence
the museum confiscated his sword
and threw it into a glass cage.
Around the sword he erected guards and a thousand fences.
Ah, history books.
Will you give Canaan a sword?

Canaan left the city's sidewalks
and disguised himself.
and went to the distant mountain to wait for the
the tide of the tribe.
Canaan didn't realize
that the tale of the Yemenite spotter was not authentic.
and that the false storytellers had invented it
as a solace for the humiliated soul.
He never rose up for honor.
nor has he ever disobeyed the soldiers of the Ajam.
How then, O Canaan
revolt against the wolf sheep
The Banu al-Abbas were never defeated
Nor did any tribe stand in the face of their state
Neither Qays are Qays nor Yemenis are Yemenis.
Otherwise, where are the knights of the war to save what is left of your slain dignity?
Let the soldiers of the Magi
Slap the face and tread on the head.
No horse is a horse.
No spear is a spear.
The sword is not a sword, nor are these gears.
A state of eunuchs
Poor man, its tools are cups.
Go back to the old books.
Sleep peacefully between the lines
Or go back to the sidewalks of the city
Remove this vestigial mustache and throw away the headband
And have patience for injustice.
It is the best of qualities.
Don't say where the men are

Canaan is determined to ignite the revolution against corruption.
Oh, poor guy.
Canaan the Bald.
He speaks to the dead and barks at them.
But when does the dead listen?

The news of Canaan and his revolution
on the tongues of the beautiful broadcasters.
The world has not felt it.
All we read is that Canaan was
once upon a time.
All we know is that Canaan
is confined to the pages of a newspaper

Muhammad Makram
6/2/2007
Dammam