Salma
Says Salma
I am no-one –
yet i’m someone.
neither special
nor unusual,
universal
yet unique
i’m a grass straw
on a meadow
each resembles its peer
yet of millions
over millions
just a single one is me
i’m a star
in the milky way,
from afar
a dot in a myriad,
all alike, yet each
a universe in itself
dip your hand into endless space
then make your choice
and remember:
they’re countless,
yet only this very one is me.
She’s Salma –
what else
can we say?
She’s Shami –
what tells
is her grace.
So shy –
like a bride
she hides
her blushing face,
enhancing the light
of charming beauty –
and sparkling wit,
like the folds of night
intensify
the brightness of fire
on hill sides lit.
She’s Arab –
don’t make
the mistake
of touching her pride
She will smite
with words
sharp as Damscene swords
then smile with spite
as she turns aside
and forever seales
the door that veils
those Eastern secrets
you’ll never know.
She’s Oriental – woe
to you western fool
you lost it all
now she’s gone her way
She’s Salma –
what else
do we need to say?
I wrote this with regards to a dispute bewteen Salma and and an orientalist professor. Salma did not like the poem, so I wrote another one.
Salma wrote these lines for me:
Travelers
They were born on one condition:
Travelers must reach the end.
They have no might but submission.
Do not live or believe this road.
When they forget their position,
a painful feeling starts to moan:
‘Life is only a certain mission.
Long to be in the real home.’
