Text: A Bad Day

Abdulhamid, the Commander (*) [1] I put my hand in my pocket, pulled out my face. It was very dark today, a day unlike any other. [2] I sat today trying to solve a puzzle that had bewildered me. I placed my dignity in my hands, not with the intention of selling it, for I am not a skilled seller. The scoundrels stole my shirt; they were my friends in appearance. [3] I tried to sleep to forget, but sorrow seeped into my dreams, dyeing my veins with iodine. I woke up to find my face hidden in my desk drawer, ashamed of my penury in this treacherous age. [4] I do not know the color of tomorrow. I try to choose my colors, but I have been told that my color is forbidden in the markets, and I need an official permit to obtain a brilliant tomorrow. [5] This coming future is as mysterious as the gloom of ancient catacombs. I must therefore walk cautiously along these roads mined with death, so that my feet do not stumble and I do not fall into the pit, while my chest is a battering ram breaking through the corridors in search of a pure hand. [6] I do not know what my tomorrow hides, or what my hands will reap on the roads that slip away from me as I pant after them without an appointment. I will surely reach my destination, despite my advanced age in this deceitful and unjust time. (*) A Bahraini writer