At The End Of The Night Poem by Sayed Gouda

Maybe the one who came scurrying
at the end of the night
to knock on our door, humble,
begging for a piece of bread,
a mouthful of water,
and a woollen shawl
to protect himself from the biting of cold
was a jinni,
carrying in his pocket
the spell of our coming curse.

Maybe the one who came
at the end of the night
was a windstorm,
coming to warn us of birds
that would carry us
on wings that we don't see
to a land, faraway,
faraway,
in which the present are absent,
the absent are present,
and the bewildered cry at its door.

Maybe the one who came
at the end of the night
was none but him,
coming to laugh at my pride,
coming to announce that soon
i would roam the streets alone,
to knock on a stranger's door,
begging for a piece of bread,
a mouthful of water,
and a woollen shawl
on one of the winter's nights.

Maybe the one who came to us
-in spite of disguise-
was me!

29 May 2007