Stand Not At My Heart’s Door

By Thekra Luaibi

Translated by Mahmoud Abbas Masoud

 

 

Stand not at my heart’s door

Like a beggar

Asking for nectar from a jar

That contains nothing but bitter gall

My years are a ceaseless wandering

Their harvest is barren thorns

I am alone in this dreary silence

Licking my wounds

Patience is my healing salve

Who said that crimson darkness

Will metamorphose you into dew

Who said you are my inspirer

Release me from my years a rose-child

Pull me out of your sea a pearl-houri

Then will I admit that

You are my poesy

And that from my extreme blood

You have lodged yourself

Into my throbbing pulse.

 

Poet from Iraq lives in UAE.

Syrian translator lives in USA.