Rain

Sorry for the recent lack of posts. It’s been crazy trying to keep up with school projects after returning from Qatar. When the semester ends in two weeks I’ll return to regular writing about water issues.

While in Qatar I was given a book called The Poetry of Arab Women edited by Nathalie Handal. It is a beautiful collection of writing and I’d like to share a poem by Dunya Mikhail from Iraq.

Rain

THE FIRST DROP

Whan the rain of God falls down
                                    please, my friend,
keep silent for a while
so that speech does not get wet!

SECOND DROP

Close to the Dead Sea
the greiving flute yawns
and the dead rise up from the sea.
I was dallying . . .
                 But behold!
Here are my good old dead,
                 rising!

THIRD DROP

-What is it?
             My heart?
                       Take it away
nothing throbs within it.
Yet, where shall the birds spend the night?

FOURTH DROP

A seagull gazes around
seeing millions of mirrors
millions of torn wings in the mirrors.

FIFTH DROP

Passages have my heart
passages that lead to doors
doors that lead to hallways
hallways that lead to windows
windows that lead to your heart.

SIXTH DROP

Within me is a heart
in the heart – walls
in the walls – cracks
in the cracks – dead wind.

SEVENTH DROP

The coffee is cold!
Friend, what shall I do?
There remains no space for me to jump in
no bird for me to drop down like a tear
no green except my heart.
The sunflower is not turning around this day
and language recognizes no pronouns but I.
My friend, what shall I do
now that the coffee is cold?

EIGHTH DROP

I have returned to you
but I have not brought with me
                    the blueness of my soul
                    nor the greeness of reproach
                    nor the blackness of dawn
                    nor the whiteness of drowsiness
therefore,
                    have I not returned to you?

NINTH DROP

By day
I visited your tomb, where the birds lay their eggs of memory.
By night
         I had a dream
in which I was the witness.

TENTH DROP

The evening is white
and the heart is an icy carnation.
The evening is white
       history is snow
            the eyes
                  Baghdad Observer
                        your hands
                             the appointment’s
                                                         snow.

The waiter came over
dropped two ice cubes in my glass
and I dropped my heart in the glass.
It is why the heart clamors for icy friends?