Why Did You Leave the Horse Alone? Read Online Free PDF

lanterns in the temple
    *
    In the olive groves, east of the springs
    Grandfather has withdrawn into his lonely shadow.
    The sun does not rise on his shadow.
    On his shadow, no shadow falls
    And Grandfather forever, is far away…

Houriyyah’s Teachings
    I
    One day I thought of travelling, and a goldfinch settled on
    Her hand and fell asleep. It was enough that I caress a branch of a vineyard
    In haste… for her to understand that my wine glass
    Was full. Enough that I go to bed early for her to see
    My dream clearly, and spend her night watching over it…
    Enough that a letter come from me for her to know that
    My address had changed, above the corridors of prisons, and that
    My days circled around her… and about her
II
    My mother counts my twenty fingers and toes from afar.
    She combs my hair in the golden strand of her own hair. She seeks
    In my underwear for foreign women,
    She darns my torn socks. I did not grow up at her hand
    As we wished: I and she, we parted company at the slope
    Of the marble… clouds signalled to us, and to a goat
    That will inherit the place. Exile has set up for us two Languages:
    A spoken… so that the dove can understand it and preserve the memory
    And a formal language… so that I can interpret her shadow to the shadows!

III
    I live still in your ocean. You did not say what
    A mother says to her sick child. I was sick from the brass moon
    On the tents of the Badu. Do you remember
    The road we took when we fled to Lebanon, where you forgot me:
    And forgot the bread-bag (it was wheaten bread).
    And I did not shout so as not to waken the guards.
    The scent of dew put me on your shoulders. O gazelle who lost
    There her home and her mate…
IV
    Around you there was no time for sentimental talk.
    You kneaded all the noontide with basil. You baked
    The cockscomb for the sumac. I know what ruins your heart, pierced
    By the peacock, since you were driven a second time from Paradise.
    Our whole world has changed, our voices have changed. Even
    Our greeting to each other dropped off like a button on sand,
    Making no sound. Say: Good morning!
    Say anything to me so that life may be kind to me.
V
    She is Hagar’s sister. Her maternal sister. She weeps
    With the reed pipes the dead who have not died. There are no graves around
    Her tent to show how the sky opened up, and she does not
    See the desert behind my fingers: so as to see her garden
    on the face of the mirage, old time hurries her on
    To an inevitable futility: her father flew like
    A Circassian on the marriage steed. But her mother
    Prepared, without tears, for her husband’s wife,
    Her henna, and checked out her anklets…
VI
    We only meet to take our leave of each other when our talk converges.
    She says to me, for instance: Marry any woman,
    So long as she is foreign, more beautiful than the local girls. But, do not
    Trust any woman but me. Do not always trust
    Your memories. Do not burn to enlighten your mother,
    That is her honourable trade. Do not long for the promises
    Of dew. Be realistic as the sky. Do not long
    For your grandfather’s black cloak, or your grandmother’s
    Many bribes, be as free in the world as a foal.
    Be who you are, where you are. Carry
    Only the burden of your heart… Come back when
    Your land has widened into the land, and has changed its conditions…
VII
    My mother lights the last stars of Canaan
    Around my looking glass,
    And throws into my last poem her shawl!

Ivory Combs
    From the fortress the clouds drift down, blue,
    Onto the alleyways…
    The silk shawl flies
    And the flock of pigeons flies
    And on the face of the water of the pool the sky moves a little and flies.
    And my spirit flies, like a worker-bee, among the alleyways
    And the sea eats its bread, bread of Acre
    And polishes its seal, as it has for five thousand years
    And throws its cheek against its cheek
    Ritual of long, long marriage
    *
    The poem says:
    Let us wait
    Until the window comes