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.