First Minority

The Chaldean translator turns to the truck driver:
“It must be a minority. It has the dust of a past glory.”
The Mandaean driver stops his truck next to a tree,
He tells the torchbearer: “Dig here.”
The matter might not be revealed until the snow melts
on the mountains. When the bottle was buried, something
disappeared from the world. The translator and truck driver
parted ways, the torchbearer too. The tree turned into an
olive; not eastern nor western. It must have been a minority.

*

Second Minority

In past times, when nothing needed
to happen, a crow stood on a chair arm,
while a bottle of arak slightly moved on the desk.
The digging had begun. The contemporary
novelist, knowing all of this, ended his final
chapter with a long phone call— the hero
had broken up with the heroine.

*

Third Minority

The strangers returned,
a long time had passed
maybe 10 years, more or less
they were certain they’ve been long
gone, longer than they expected,
maybe a little shorter than their long beards
the three were taken by the smell of fruits
and slaughter as they entered the market;
the season hadn’t yet started! One of them
dropped a coin, but no one looked back
they realized that their money too was strange
they might have sat down after that, chatting
about some matter, or maybe they just left,
not sure of what happened to them.