miyako73
04-15-2012, 05:52 PM
I am a walking cloth of blue
In the afternoon cloud of dust,
In the streets of shards and stones
Under the stubborn Kabul sun.
I was born in a yard of persimmons
From a mother who sewed laces
Into white baby veils and tied nets
Against mosquitoes and biting flies.
When I was old and strong enough
To climb trees and pick pomegranates,
My sister gathered scraps and rags
To cover my long palm-oiled hair.
I was twelve when I milked and bled
Under my grandmother’s watchful eyes
That panicked and sternly warned
Forcing me to scarf tight my brow.
Then Ahmed came with poppies,
Marigolds, sweets, gold, and guns,
With his mother, sister, and grandmother
Who garbed me with a long veil of blue.
I can only see the silhouette of the morning,
The shadow of the snow-capped mountains,
And glimpses of Spring blooms and Summer sky
As I cook lentils and lamb and the veil broils me.
In the afternoon cloud of dust,
In the streets of shards and stones
Under the stubborn Kabul sun.
I was born in a yard of persimmons
From a mother who sewed laces
Into white baby veils and tied nets
Against mosquitoes and biting flies.
When I was old and strong enough
To climb trees and pick pomegranates,
My sister gathered scraps and rags
To cover my long palm-oiled hair.
I was twelve when I milked and bled
Under my grandmother’s watchful eyes
That panicked and sternly warned
Forcing me to scarf tight my brow.
Then Ahmed came with poppies,
Marigolds, sweets, gold, and guns,
With his mother, sister, and grandmother
Who garbed me with a long veil of blue.
I can only see the silhouette of the morning,
The shadow of the snow-capped mountains,
And glimpses of Spring blooms and Summer sky
As I cook lentils and lamb and the veil broils me.