It’s A Camel Ride


It’s a camel ride, and I
In a desolate street
Of a ravaged city
Holding the worn-out leather reins
Drive towards that home
On whose threshold
A sorrowful woman is tethered down
With a cord
Of my promise
A sturdy cord, weaved from heart-strings
Bare-headed, for many centuries
Teary eyes
Eyes with the glint of an ancient star
Anxious to imbibe the smell of my ashen robe
And to hear the distressed grunts
Of my brown camel.

The same soggy corner of the chamber
Where one night
When wooden arrows were raining down
I had abandoned her
Vulnerable and lonely
I still remember every bit
The drizzle had stopped
The moon was seated in the night sky
Like a youthful prince on the throne
The air caressed the cheeks like a silken shawl
The street was fast asleep
The houses, in their cold and wet shells
As if made of soft and thin paper
Or carved out of wax
Standing since eternity
In a big painting

The same soggy corner of the chamber
Where glittering sunbeams were spotlighting
The fresh fig leaf
In her long, unbraid hair
I still remember every bit
The kiss on her wheatish elbow
The same night
When I had laid my sword at her feet
And had pledged:
“My body, and the strength that runs it
Will accompany your passion
Till eternity … beyond eternity
Till the verge of existence and nonexistence
Time listens
I make my witnesses
This moon on the sky
The sword in your feet
And the fig leaf in your hair.”

God, what a moment that was
what a moment this is!
The street, deserted and hushed
What a wretched moment, in which
Neither a tiny bird nor a moth
Or a paltry ant has crossed my way
Much less a human being
It’s a camel ride, and I
Holding the worn-out leather reins
Drive towards that home
… Drive towards a doomsday, a silent doomsday
A doomsday of somebody’s sobs and sighs
A scene
A scene where a street
And a brown camel
And the company of a spineless man
A never-ending journey till eternity

It’s camel ride
Or the ride on the exhausted nerves?
Or a trial by a bizarre dream?
Frozen pupils
Unmoving shadow of the camel
All images have lost in the mirror
I’m in the street for a long time
Where is she, my dearest?
She, of the soggy chamber?
She, of the melodious chimes?
She, of the lands, of oceans, of souls, of heavens?

The eyes strain but the tears don’t roll down
The street never ends
Command the street to end!
I, sitting on the brown, frail camel
Count my last days
How I long for even a bee from her era
To flit through the street
How I beg for pardon at her doorstep
How I crave to bow my head
So that, on account of that bee from her era
I take my withered body
And my frail camel
And cross the last bounds of the street.

 Poet:Rafiq Sandeelvi


Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.04.2014

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