THESE WAVES

 

I mine souls

and light the ashes of books,

spurred on by the pangs of loss

When the orphans come

to me

out of the waves

I spread my eye’s gaze

 

I have the well sit next to me

I and prepare tea for Time

 

Move away, desert!

and come forward, O sea!

with the garments of your light waves

 

The miner of birds’ souls

and the one who wakes the peoples of sand

is asking you for fresh milk

from the depths of your throat

for these orphan waves

hungry at my hand

since the day of creation

 

For these impoverished waves

they have yet to see any sky

or earth

 

For these tiny waves

they have never ascended

the mountain of desire

before,

never seen life

on that mountain

 

For these waves

they did not fall, all of a sudden,

from the mountain

like birds swooping down

to the sandy shore

 

For these waves

they have yet to break

as they should

Translated by Sinan Antoon and published in Banipal 38 – Arab American Authors in the feature on Four Emirati Poets

 

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