A Grave In Istanbul Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

A grave in Istanbul

He fell down the cargo hold, a long fall
the hold's floor was made of wood and lessened
the brutal slam when he hit bottom.
He got up, waved to us and climbed the iron-
the ladder onto the deck, he said he was ok
He was not ok!
He had about him something vanishing like
his turn of service was over, all he had to do
was packing his suitcase and leaving but lingered
the ship had been his home for many months
He stood on deck on the vanishing day, looking
towards the city's lights, he appeared brittle.
No, he was not hungry smoked cigarettes and
had dreamy eyes.
He was there, but he wasn't there, which made us uneasy
the bright light over his head, a saintly halo.
He went to bed early had been a trying day
In the morning, he was beyond awakening
a broken body, resting for all eternity.