I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater

I have a seat in the abandoned theater in Beirut. I might forget, and I might recall the final act without longing ... not because of anything other than that the play was not written skillfully ... Chaos as in the war days of those in despair, and an autobiography of the spectators’ impulse. The actors were tearing up their scripts and searching for the author among us, we the witnesses sitting in our seats I tell my neighbor the artist: Don’t draw your weapon, and wait, unless you’re the author! —No Then he asks me: And you are you the author? —No So we sit scared. I say: Be a neutral hero to escape from an obvious fate He says: No hero dies revered in the second scene. I will wait for the rest. Maybe I would revise one of the acts. And maybe I would mend what the iron has done to my brothers So I say: It is you then? He responds: You and I are two masked authors and two masked witnesses I say: How is this my concern? I’m a spectator He says: No spectators at chasm’s door ... and no one is neutral here. And you must choose your part in the end So I say: I’m missing the beginning, what’s the beginning?