Sargon Boulus
Sargon Boulus
Two Poems


They were
the first dreamers
who embodied the shape
of a dream in clay:
a stairwell of prayers
that will scale
the heights.

They knew:
a stranger once
passed among them,
and disappeared.
His shade
will be redeemed
in the form
of a ziggurat –
this ship of the gods
whose figurehead
will rend the clouds.

And learned:
it is a sea of time,
on whose shore
from time to time,
we might glimpse
an ancestor’s
figure in white,
who will nod to us

across a thousand years
and wait for his ship.


I play alone.
An hour.
Or two.
I spread the cards on the table.

When will you show up?
Player, all this luck is for you.
Appear. I will stay up until dawn
waiting for your sight.
To whom will I show my cards?
Without you, what meaning to my game?
I will play. But first,
what are the rules: if I’m to win,
who might the loser be?
if I’m the loser, who will win
. . . what?

O player in the shadows,
this game will not reveal its secrets
without a price: a thousand
dinars for the one who will show his hand.
Another thousand for him
who shall keep it concealed.

– Strange. What a game!
in which no one can win, or lose.
– Yes. And what a jackpot. What stakes!

Translated by the author