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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