The Circle

Excerpt

Their flight is a five-hour affair. They have first-class seats and are served a
light lunch once the plane is in the air. Hakim is hungry and enjoys the food,
although Ibrahim eats only a bit of his. They each enjoy a glass of red wine.
Hakim asks the same question as on the previous day.
“My uncle, you promised to tell me more about the work Matthew Roberts and
the Admiral do for the CIA, do you remember?”
Ibrahim takes a deep breath, smiles, and says,
“It is a long story, my dear boy; however, in a nutshell, this is it. They both
work for a department that goes by the code name the ‘Circle’. They are located
in Washington D.C., not in Langley. In their department 130 people analyze
intelligence, data, and information, and make recommendations to the
Executive Branch. This is where decisions about war take place. Based on the
recommendations of the Admiral, who bases his decisions on the analyses of
Matthew’s people, the war room as some call it, takes its stand against any enemy
as circumstances dictate.”
He stops and takes a deep breath. Ibrahim does that a lot more often, Hakim
notices. The old man looks at his nephew, wondering how far he can still go with
this.
“They are the basis of a detailed system that undermines the governments of
various countries, based on what their goals are and serving their interests the
best way possible. They formed the basis for the decision to go against Saddam
Hussein in the war of 2003. That department of the CIA is the one which sexed
up the propaganda before the war.”
“In other words, they are the reason the war started?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way exactly; however, they had a lot to do with it.
You see, they are not the final decision makers of the government, but they make
recommendations based on data. They have a plan of action for any foreseeable
event, which could turn the outcome of their strategy one way or another. They
plan with various options always before them, and even then they prove to be
wrong on many occasions. There’s always a variable that cannot be predicted
ahead of time, and when it comes to play, it alters the results time and time again.
This is the same reason they are wrong so many times—the unpredictability of
the reactions of people to certain events and to intelligence. Every time you think
how or why a decision has to be made, it’s like being in a maze, and you can only
hope for the outcome you have predicted.”
He stops for a while, calls the flight attendant and orders two glasses of wine.
Hakim takes a sip of his wine, looks at his watch, and estimates they are halfway
to New York. His uncle looks tired. Yet Hakim wants to know more.
“What else do you know, my uncle?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

They Passed the Forest


paper doves
flew inside
the dark colonnade
of the palace
and each flutter
of their wings
the deep glance
of the Kore was too
like the fall
of a stone
in the sea
or
the promise
of a distant
joy
lower
the thin dresses
with the colourful flowers
that the wind caressed
and were worn
by wooden
statues
with still wooden eyes
and clay
hair
wooden statues
named
Maria
named
bottle
tallow
bicycle
named
spark

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

Liquid Labyrinth

behind words on posters

buttoning up my desires of a phoenix
with a spared woman’s eye
where I am vigilance on your eyelids
where morning tears a star
my little bloom doesn’t deserve a word

  • shame burns my masquerade
    satisfaction lasts only until dawn
    and my outspoken blood mutates
    my rampage gets worse half way through
  • God stops me for a few days to retire
    I block myself all my silence too
    let me be warmed up by your dawning fire
    I wish I knew what my voice was hiding
    fresh mercy tears my soul’s depth
    your voice stops me crying
    because I was just your tyrant-breath
    I make way for my narrow desires’ path
    to raise the tiny voice up
  • daybreak wakes you up at midnight
    as the universes were put in orbit unstuck
    I tried to live according to your wishful vision
    where nights and days are siblings
    your body is an unseen prison
    just behind words on posters’ printing