An Oriental
Tapestry
The
Referendum
I
am
not
of
this
world.
I
am
not
of
this
world.
I do not
belong to any part of this world.
I do not
belong to the Eastern parts of this world.
I do not
belong to the Western parts of this world.
I do not
belong to the Southern parts of this world.
I do not
belong to the Northern parts of this world.
I do not
even belong
to the
Central parts of this world.
I do not
belong to my very place of birth.
I do not
belong anywhere in this world.
Anywhere.
In this
world,
I have no
niche,
no refuge,
no
shelter,
no roots.
I am a nobody
in this world.
A nobody.
For me,
there is
no hope,
there is
no home,
there is
no comfort,
there is no
world.
Why should
I, then, not mark the Black Circle?
O
I saw your
Draculian teeth, sir,
(as you
tried to smile).
I saw your
flickering tong, sir,
(and I
thought I heard you bleat, sir, but I was not surprised).
I saw that
blood-red glare in your eyes,
(and was
not petrified).
I saw your
nose bleed and your ears flap,
(and for a
moment, I thought I could hear you cry - was I wrong?)
I saw how
frail your body and limbs were.
I saw your
nipples, sir, protruding from your chest –
a pair of
tiny brownish eyes,
no more or
less blind than your other pair.
I saw that
black hole in your belly,
and I saw
your pubic hair arching
like a big
black tent,
like a
dark cumulous cloud
over the
world.
I saw your
penis, sir,
and
despite your age and maladies,
I noticed
how
firm
your
erections
were.
And as you
penetrated the gaping mouth of that traitorous whore, sir,
(were you
counting on her fear, sir?
Or was she
too busy choking on your infertile seed
not to
take a bite from your precious organ?
Not to
even contemplate such a thing?
Or were
you gambling, sir?
Simply
gambling?
Or were
you that confident, sir,
of what
you have
accomplished?)
you needed
firmness, sir, you most assuredly needed firmness.
And I saw
your hairy buttocks, sir,
and I saw
your fleshy thighs.
And I saw
your flat feet, sir,
and I saw
your
two
blackened
big toes.
I saw all
that, sir. I saw it all.
I saw it
all.
I saw you
sir.
I saw you
out of all of your guises,
and all of
your clothes.
And that
child inside of me,
that child
that
refused to grow up,
that did
not yet learn how to lie to himself,
(most
assuredly a miracle by our standards, sir.
You have
to admit that, sir.
You have
to admit that.)
had
to mark
the
Black
Circle.
O
Millions
of dollars were spent
on a
forgone conclusion.
Millions
of dollars
and you
had no challengers, sir,
nothing to
worry about,
nothing to
prove.
Nothing.
(Or did
you?)
No one
dares doubt the legitimacy of your rule
(twenty
eight year of oppression would lend legitimacy to incest,
not to
mention political authority).
No one
dares question any decision you make
(not
openly anyway, sir).
No one
dares do anything out of the limits you established
(ours, as
you well know,
has always
been a culture of submission:
isn’t
that the gist of Islam, sir?)
And
though
I
marked
the
Black
Circle
(and how
could I not mark the Black Circle?),
and though
I was quite sane at the time
(and why
should I not be sane, at the time?)
to me,
it was
not
an act of
daring,
or folly,
(oh, not
at all.)
But a
simple reflection
of…the
Tao,
if you
will, sir,
the Tao,
of the way
things eternally are inside of me.
You could
never have planned for,
or
foreseen,
such an
eventuality,
could you,
sir?
Could you?
Yes.
Yes, it
was the Tao
that made
me
mark
the
Black
Circle.
O
You are
the Tough One.
You are
the Citadel.
I
am
the
torn
one.
I am the
insensitive bastard.
I
am
the
irrational.
You are
the One Who Lacks Faith In Her Lovers,
And
Eventually Deserts Them.
I am the
one who has faith in himself,
and will never
desert you.
You are
the Sensible.
I am the
inspite-of-his-nose rebel.
You are
the Schemer.
I
am
the
hopeless
little
dreamer.
You are
the Accepted One
Who Hides
Her True Feelings,
And Marks
The Green
Circle.
I am the
scorned one
who wears
his feelings on his sleeves,
and
nails
the
pieces
of
his
hearts
to his
heels,
and marks
the Black Circle.
You are
the Pretentious Winner.
I am the
alleged loser
who
marked
the
Black
Circle.
O
When I
marked the Black Circle,
the
security agent protested,
my mother
gasped,
my father
ordered me out of the country,
my aunt
denounced me as a betrayer of the family,
my friends
treated me as a lost soul,
and fate
showered its curses upon me.
In
one
simple
stroke
of
the
pen,
I became
a persona
non-grata,
a black
sheep,
a
harbinger of ill-fortune and misery
to all
around me.
My
loneliness was finally legitimized,
and
consecrated.
It’s
all right, though,
it’s
all right.
It’s
all right.
Those who
did not understand were never actually meant to understand.
And,
though, those who could understand
might
never get the chance to understand,
it’s
still all right.
It’s
still all right.
To each
his own way to the watering hole.
To each
his own destiny.
To each
his own beginning and end.
To each
his own Black Circle,
which,
one day,
he has to
mark,
his own
Black Hole,
from which,
one day,
he
has
to
emerge.
Oh yes,
yes
indeed,
I
marked
the
Black
Circle.
Ø No,
I do not agree (with the nomination by the Parliament of the President for a fifth
consecutive term in office.
Notes
According to the law, the ballot should be
secret in Syria. In practice, however, it took place in the open, for who in his right
mind would even consider voting against the Wise Leader of Modern Syria?
Only 219 people out of the nine million qualified voters in Syria marked the
Black Circle, 917 people left the form unmarked. While the rest marked the
Green Circle signifying approval., or, to be more exact, submission.
|