Here is the poem in full:
You’ll die at sea.
Your head rocked by the roaring waves,
your body swaying in the water,
like a perforated boat.
In the prime of youth you’ll go,
shy of your 30th birthday.
Departing early is not a bad idea;
but it surely is if you die alone,
with no woman calling you to her embrace:
“Let me hold you to my breast,
I have plenty of room.
Let me wash the dirt of misery of your soul.”
“Abdel fled his home in desperate search of safety. But he knew of the dangers that lay ahead. In many ways, he predicted his own death at sea in one of his recent poems.”
Malta remains at the forefront of an ongoing migration crisis that sees countless people try to flee their countries in Africa and the Middle East in search of a better life in Europe… if they even make it here.
Cover photo: Helga Landauer