Poem By Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi

They placed the palaquins
on the finest workhorse camel mares,
and within their embroidered canopies
full moons and marbled statuettes.
They promised my heart
they'd return
but what are the promises of a soft girl
but illusions.
They beckoned goodbye,
fingertips dyed with henna,
set tears scattering
and stoked the fire.
They turned
back toward Yemen,
seeking Khawarnaq
then Sadir,
Damn it! I called
as they left.
They answered:
If you want to cry damn it,
Why settle for
a single, lonely damn?
Damn it, damn it,
Damn it all over!
Easy now,
dove of the thorn berry thicket,
her leaving
has sharpened your cry.
Your coo, dove,
stirs the lover
and inflames
the already burning,
Melts the heart,
compounds our longing
and our sigh
Death hovers
over a dove that coos.
We beg of him
a stay.
Maybe a breath
from the East wind
from Hajir
will bring us clouds of rain.
You who pasture the stars
be my drinking companion!
and you, awake-all-night lightning watcher,
my night friend!
And you who'd rather
sleep the night away
before you die
you live entombed
If you'd only loved
a bravesouled beauty
you'd have found in her what you desired
and been satisfied.
You'd be sharing with the belles
intimate drink,
speaking secrets to the sun, and to the moon
whispering nothing

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