Dear Mulhima*


 

You would be perfectly justified
in thinking, what nonsense is this,
for that is what which follows ought to feel.
Where can I start and how should I begin:
at the moment I was born or you, perhaps not,
humankind cannot see their coming lot!

  

Perhaps it was a recent thing,
when I first laid my eyes on your blessed face
outshining the green backdrop with its innocence,
simpler and yet more glorified than the earthly mounds!

   

Or may be, as it is said in so many texts
of Holy origin, that human fate
and destiny are more or less preordained,
so I’d end up saying this was determined,
long before the cosmos began to spread,
let alone earth, moon or the human race!

   

Perhaps I am nothing
but a Troubadour revived from his grave,
whose foiled heart still throbs in disgrace
of queen Hera’s will to settle down!

  
But as children of our circumstances,
as much as we are of our destinies,
despite future woes we succumb
to the lure of our present dreams,
so I confess, in your eyes I have seen
the ocean of my river’s wanderings.

   

And a river in spate I have been for too long
but now o fair soul, can I call your eyes my home?

.


*Mulhima is an Arabic word. It means "Muse".

 

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