Shut the door behind you
By Iqbal Tamimi
Your absence creeps up on me,
Peeping through my sleepy eyes,
Yawning from the look of surprise.
Did you return …. to apologize?
My prides roars, rears back
in the face of my submission.
The clock has swallowed
the hands that danced through my tears.
My wounds have licked their salt.
I will never breathe your breath again.
My sadness is folded away
in the worn purse of memory.
The gulls’ wings that weaved
spells beyond the window,
the rusty needle that once
stitched our photos back together
must be shattered beyond repair.
Stuff the sky in an envelope
if you must, stick on all the stamps.
Your letters will never be delivered.
See what remains from the harvest of slaves.
I have been drowned in dew.
Gather me up in a bottle
and like the nectar of pain
spray me on your arid heart.
My fingertip is plucking
on a string which yearns instead
for the touch of a lost legend.
