Inspired by Sufi poet Amir Khusrau (1253-1325 CE)
i.
He rarely visits, but
When he does, the hills
Behind my father’s house
Bubble with mirth.
I long for his hand on
Hot, lonely nights, but
Despise his coldness
When he’s here.
Who, girl, your man?
No, the snow.
ii.
In the courtyard, I smell
His sweet scent; I am
Home between
His sun-tanned arms.
He is a steady companion
At every meal, his
Warmth a rose against
My cheek.
In the kitchen, my mother
And grandmother bat my
Hand and whisper
Their approval.
Who, girl, your man?
No, a fresh loaf of bread.
iii.
He enters through
My window every
Night and keeps
Me sleepless.
Although the gods
Forbid it, I long
To kiss his
Glowing face.
Who, girl, your man?
No, the moon.
iv.
He’s my summer love;
The one I come back to
year after year.
His voice is a brook in
the endless chatter
of warm months.
Pink-lipped, he leaves
Me every August with
Sweet kisses down
My chin.
Who, girl, your man?
No, a watermelon.
댓글