Poem 071, Sonnet 27: You, Not You Poem by Samer Madbak

What arid face I see, what rugged care
Is this? What sore hello, what sallow hue?
Are those the jaunty eyes I erstwhile knew?
Is this the lofty brow, the poignant stare?
What yielding words, what bottomless despair?
What? No! It can’t be true, this isn’t you…
This idle simper, this decisive rue,
This lowered forehead, this is not his air!
The one I know is much more spirited
Head laurelled, victor over accident.
Well minded, animate, self-confident
But you? ! My senses must have been misled
To thinking that you are the friend I know
I’m sorry, stranger! 'T must have been a flaw!


Beirut
January 25th 1990