I Bear Witness: There Is No Woman but You
I bear witness that no woman
Has mastered the game like you have.
You have tolerated my foolishness
For a decade, just as you have endured
My madness, as patiently as you did.
You trimmed my nails,
Organized my notes,
And introduced me to kindergarten,
No one but you.
I bear witness that there is no woman
Who resembles me like a painted portrait
In thought and behavior except you,
In intellect and madness, except you,
In rapid boredom
And swift attachment,
No one but you.
I bear witness that no woman
Has taken from my attention
Half of what you have,
Colonized me as you did,
And liberated me just the same.
I bear witness that there is no woman
Who has treated me like a two-month-old child,
No one but you,
Who offered me the sweet nectar of life,
Flowers and toys,
No one but you.
I bear witness that no woman
Has been as generous with me as the sea,
Ethereal like poetry,
And spoiled me as you have,
And indulged my whims as you did.
I bear witness that no woman
Has extended my childhood
Into my fifties,
No one but you.
A Different Kind of Love
I have invented your love to avoid standing in the rain without an umbrella,
I forged love letters from you for myself,
I conjured your affection like a song sung alone in the dark,
To assuage my fears.
When we love, the heart becomes a dwelling for ghosts,
The memory bathes in perfume, tears, and the scent of apples.
When we love, the wait weeps at the café table,
As echoes of the past parade in the street outside, we shower them with jasmine.
We forget the clamor of street vendors with their microphones,
And the sirens of police and ambulances, along with the sounds of weddings
And funerals.
I will not arrange my deceased in the cave of my depths, adorned with all their medals,
Nor will I describe them as soldiers who fell to a crack of sorrow,
Or sit to write them with the hand of shadows,
For I will love you, and I shall not fail in inventing this love.
A Declaration of Love
I have declared my love for you and my choice,
And I am confident of my triumph.
So do not think … do not resist,
Do not doubt … do not argue,
Your fated destiny is to be
With me in my paradise and my fire.
If you flee from me, you shall find despair,
For you are my planet, within my orbit.
And without me, you are bereft of life,
Devoid of fragrance … devoid of fruits.
Love, if you comprehend it, is a spring,
Smiling like the dawn.
Like a star … like a scent … like wishes,
Like the grass in the plains and meadows.
And you, my beloved, are my reward,
After my yearning for you and my waiting,
More beautiful than what was once in my dreams.
More precious than pearls of the seas,
More delicate than the morning dew, sweeter
Than the fragrance of flowers in March.
You are breathtaking in every aspect,
So how can I hide my awe from you?
With me you flourish – choose your path,
And make my decision your own.
Accept my love, for my love is
A sea, with a resolution without resolution,
A heart that loves without conditions –
This is life in summary.
O ‘Abla, My Infatuation Has Grown
O ‘Abla, my infatuation has increased,
And today your people have persisted in my agony.
Your passion has continued to thrive every day,
Just as my gray hair flourishes in my youth.
I have reproached the circumstances of my time because of you, until
I have spent my life in rebuke.
I have encountered enemies and preserved my people,
Who neglected me and did not care for my needs.
Ask, O ‘Abla, about the day we visited
The tribes of ‘Amer and Bani Kulab.
And how many knights I left unburied,
With hands stained, unadorned.
He moved his leg from fear, and in him
The spear’s tip shone like a shooting star.
We killed two hundred free men from them,
And a thousand in the hills and valleys.
Good Morning to You, O Ancient Ruins
Good morning to you, O ancient ruins,
Will those in bygone eras ever awaken?
And will the only one who wakes be the eternal sa’id,
With few worries, who spends every night peacefully?
And will those who were the most recently departed,
Last thirty months in three states?
Homes of Salma, invigorated with a mark,
Press upon her all heavy rains.
And Salma believes that she still sees a trace
From the wild or white in the clear lagoon.
And Salma must think that we still endure, as we did,
In the valley of lavender or among the mountain heights.
The nights of Salma as she showed you her adornment,
And her beauty like that of a doe, unspoiled.
Did you not claim today with your finger that I have aged,
And that merriment does not suit someone like me?
You lied; indeed, the wedding of a man can inspire,
And I will not allow my marriage to be barren.
And perhaps one day I will revel, by night,
With a maiden like a line of a statue,
Illuminating the bed with her face,
Like an oil lamp in the hands of a quarreler.
As if on her locks, embers are seized,
Fiercely and marvelously.