Diving into a woman's sorrow

Who will dive into the sorrow of a woman
whose exile paints itself a shade of blue
whose gateways lead to seductions
the size of the Lord's eyes?
Who will steal away the homeland
tattooed into memory
extinguish the lamps of years
forgotten along the heart's way?
Who will break an Andalusian spell
and take me by storm?
Amazement shall blossom like roses
and my heart turn the color of dreams --
dreams left behind by the prophets
Your face with lights
your face bathed by rain
let the rest of the world burn
The gypsy woman captures
an old sailor's songs
and squanders them in the wind
So who said
"Never love a man who loves the sea
you'll die, either by drowning or by force"
Who said so?
Listen a little to my pain
Weep over my weariness and kiss me
You surround my every pore
so wipe away the signs of my orphanhood
Between your silence and the lines of my palms
I am a wanted woman
Our time hurtles towards the cities of lights
O my forgotten homeland
Forgive me, Birayn
The wounds of the sea stole me away from you
The wind's fury assailed me
an ocean ago
I trickle along the path of a tear
swaying with the sun's slant
and remembering that man of mine
Between his palms and my blood there are poems
which sorrowful women desire
In my hair, on his chest
there are dreams to be shared by the miserable
dreams as blue as the Danube's sorrows
They compose the song of the future
They sketch in the sands of exile
seasons for love and longing
Ah . . . Forgive me, Birayn
in my troubles I see your exiled face
You ask the waves about a fish
which flirts with travel
but cannot survive my yearning 
for the soil's liberation, the trees' widowhood
You are surrounded by the alphabet of my pain
by the taste of bread dipped
in my mother's blood
her willowy stature
her dark complexion smuggled from the Fertile Crescent
her eyes, where the hardiest sailors plunge
her heart, which is a continent of tenderness if only you knew.
Ah . . . 
You are surrounded by the alphabet of my pain
by the shape of sorrow in my father's cloak
that wounded hawk inhabited
by my grandfather's wisdom
They fought orphanhood with love sharp as a knife
Love which straddles death
shatters its stone
and springs forth like a prophet
To all my hurt
will you listen?
Shall I open my windows to the sea, and fall silent?
Teach me to dissolve in the presence of joy 
and be quiet . . .
Lead me to the childhood in things
that I may find solitude and silence
Hold me in your sea eyes
Don't let me perish by drowning or force
Kiss this flame
and draw me back, with your silken threads
to the warmth of Birayn
Oh, who said, "Never love a man 
who loves the sea . . . you'll die
by drowning or by force?"
Who said so?
Who said so?  Who said so?
 
 

     Algiers, June 5, 1992

Stay awhile

Perhaps one snowy day
our eyes will meet
Even continents may unite some day
You have been the mountain and the opium
You have always been the distances of silence
and I have been the forests of pain
You have been the poetry, the face of the future
and you have played a part in my suffering
You have been the sin I wanted to commit
On the strings of your name
I tremble like a tear
like the smile I force 
from your face
O you with the gypsy eyes
You who run
from my love . . .  from my weariness
Stay awhile
Maybe the lines will connect
and I'll hear your pulse, sir
I long for your eyes
I long for your body
dilapidated as an old building
I yearn for you
with fierce tenderness
and luscious torment
Your orange notebook
Your brown briefcase
The maze of wrinkles on your face
which I so want to kiss
Your hands -- will they ever come near me?
How I'll suffer if I discover
that they're like my grandfather's oppressive sword
Will they ever come near me?
Will they ever?
 

      August 3, 1992