The Morning Knows Me by My Eyes
Whenever longing spurs dawn’s steps,
Night mirrors my sorrow—
A window and a moon,
As I scatter the ages of my face—
Seasons of waiting
Between the shores of questions and the sea of wonder.
My heart ebbs like an hourglass,
No map traversing the branches of ancients,
Nor a melody attending the seasons—
Until you rose twice upon me:
Once in the lineage of my dreams,
And again in the secret of my kohl,
Until my life became a hymn to itself.
To write of you,
I must ask the flamenco to lend me a dance,
One that erases all the wars of absence.
I must borrow my dress from the paper butterflies,
And between rain and music, inscribe the exile of my soul.
The thrill of magic whispers my name;
Roses wash in my breath.
You are the heritage of love and poetry,
Every time they stone the windows of the future,
And you are the covenant of sparrows.
I break the sea’s siege,
And improvise the sky.
My moments, silver anklets,
wrap around the legs of longing,
awaiting a promise.
And my fragrance, a forgotten winter on your coat,
awaits an embrace.
And beauty asks me,
How did it defy the claims of withering?
and rebel against time’s decrees?
I answer:
My beauty arranges itself upon your gaze.
My beauty is the path that plucked your name to join with mine.
Since they laid claim to the eyes of wagers,
my memory of triumph has faded,
But the horses of your love refuse to depart,
They never tire of my leaps or my start,
Nor do they weary of my eager neigh.
Reema Hamza is a Syrian poet.
