Blesok no. 30, January-February, 2003
Poetry


Sleep

Faraj Bou al-Isha



Say nothing


Enter quietly
Time is set for a wide kind of
    amusement
like slurping the horizon with a
    spoon
or like a man waving to
     travelers
bidding themselves farewell.
Time enough for me and you.
Solitude
is an absolute sovereign
picking at delicacies
with fork and knife.




Thank you


If you were not yourself
you would have been
something else

or for example
nothing.




Where does this pain come from


where is it leading to?
I pick at my wounds,
like a nomad spurring his
    donkey
impatient to reach
the end of the century.




Here I am


tossing at your feet
the knowledge I have gained
from my mistakes.
I waited for your arrival
and picked at my soles
for meaning.
What good is this step
or that step?
This is how
I became stranded
in the mud of modesty.




Wait


do not leave yet.
Let me rearrange the world
for you.




Sleep


the doves have subsided
the tiger slouched
and the ox now ploughs.
The camel tossed its rider
dying of thirst
and went on its own.
Sleep
the snake dreams of another
    poison
the ghoul has devoured
the children of fantasy
and my grandmother
has made a pillow
of the tales we loved.
Sleep
the earth is your palace
and your terrace
is the seventh sky.




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