The other citizens of a village not far

  From Marcheroi were alarmed.

  Habib had banged his fist,

  to Rafy the governor about the tragedy

  that was about to befall his brother.

  While the doctors were treating him,

  Marcheroi's prodigy tried

  To stop him ending up in prayers.

  But to no avail.

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  The news of Ruh's arrest had made the rounds

  The region by many roads.

  Those of the plebs feel a hunger

  that gnaws at them,

  A national sadness that goes right up to the trunk.

  . . . . .

  ‘He refused all my proposals, Ruh.

  - Leave it, O brother. Prepare to remake your life.

  In 3 days I will be no more.

  If only bitterness binds you

  To your past, break it with a distorted blade.

  And sew up your new future.

  A future where neither I nor our daughter will be.’

  . . . . .

  In the night, a hooded man

  Comes out of the two brothers' house.

  Dressed in a toga as black as the darkness.

  He advances at a deathly pace.

  But tell me this,

  What's he doing strolling like that?

  If not towards Rafy's roof?

  He infiltrates through the window by shifting his weight.

  He crosses in silence,

  Corridors, rooms in a dance

  From which all sound was absent.

  He reaches the bed of the sleeping governor.

  A blade pressed against his throat.