My House is a Fifth Column Poem by Fatima Naoot

Your dish is shivering in fear,
Your cup is weeping,
I lift him to my lips to calm him down
but he takes advantage of my heedlessness
and commits suicide:
China shards scattered over the floor tiles,
And the tiles are dusty
So are the lamps,
Your armchair over there
bent his legs
and his cushions got crumpled,
Your tooth brush is losing her hair,
Your large white towel
refuses to drink her water for two days
to make me think she is tearful.

The books on the shelves are silent
never quarrelling as they used to,
And the portraits on the walls
avert their faces.
Also the lamp on my desk
is cold
snubs to give me light to write,
And the pens
made a plot
imprisoning themselves in the drawer,
The balcony
is folding her arms and looks away
towards the garden,
And the garden is dull
For the sparrows left.

And there
in the very bottom of the laundry basket
are your blue pyjamas
contorting like an embryo
refusing to come out to the world,
...
The whole house is sad,
The objects are complotting,
Because you won't come back
My home
Is your Fifth Column!

Cairo, April 1, 2009

Translated by the author