The Bahraini Child
Like a dove Which lands on your palms And drinks from the bowl of your breast and mouth Thus my heart.
Over its fingers, your breast closes a warm flower And it returns as a child Saying to his toy: God will punish you.
Back to front he wears his clothes And falls asleep on himself.
Like two sparrows Squabbling over a wheat kernel fallen from his hand.
Like two larks Which peek out from her shirt… He feared his lanterns would be seen By those standing He said, ‘I don’t have’ – pointing to his pocket – ‘my language here.’
He started running, the path slipped from under him From his hand, the sea poured His knees dropped onto a star And nearby, a rose cried.
She arose and lifted his face And her laugh broke off inside him He pulled out the thorn And shyly he licked God’s nectar
One child she will find Stealing the almonds from her hair And hiding them in his eloquence
Another left the field drawn on the wall Without turning off the river And the charcoal’s remorse drowned him
He said to nobody Their flowers were thirsty… But nobody was setting the roads aflame with his steps
Like… When he stumbled over the dream and the path He started kicking their ribs The house, the roads and his neighbour’s trees followed his steps
Like two sycamores Like doves Landing on a wire of his ideas God poured from his chest His knees dropped onto a star And nearby, Manama cried. |
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