al-Tiraih

Slept nearby the thorny birds

Nearby slept the birds
Telling the story
while singing folk sonnets.

Folk sonnets
we’re singing the story

About the city Yafa
when my grandmother was young

She was congealed by history

Guarded by the poor and she’s young

She was picking figs that day

And picked along some months and years and one single day

She saw on his animated face

His face, and some “news” that lacked the face

She looked back at where we were

And the marina looked farther than ever and we were

Like evening stars
but rather started to melt
along with our favorite nights

And the sun was though still coming down hard

I said: “give me the basket and wait for me on the mountain side.” She said: “In your seventh dream that will be,
the basket is full of halls
and doesn’t hold water!”

And Water wouldn’t hold in halls!

When we got to the mountain,

pheasants were awaiting for us and it was the “day,”

a bit before late afternoon.

we hid near the ledges, with dry sore throats and a moon,

peaking and sneaking on us,
and with us
along with the moon.

burned were all the fig trees,

and gone like an easy sap of spring water!

The same water that doesn’t hold any water.