Departure
They were carrying their bodies under the fog of dusk
Towards the sea,
Men departing from villages without names.
They walk like palm trees of mysterious nights
Toward the great waves that will collide tomorrow
When the caller shouts,
Everything will be deserted, and there will be no return.
After a day, a month, or a year
In poor evening gatherings
They swallow their dreams while eating dates.
Men departing,
Their names will never be written.
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