Their Place Poem by Wadih Saadeh

Oblivion has no stations
on this road
The hand that touched
the passers-by
many generations ago
again touches them now
and their dust subsides
under their feet
once more.
They had wished
for a knight to come
and he did, passing
quickly, leaving a breeze
that rippled their shirts.
Something fell
from his shadow on the road
and since then
the pedestrians circle
around their place
on the sidewalk
and those who sit
are nailed to their chairs.