No woman we loved
the enemy didn’t conquer first.
No country we headed to
fire didn’t level down to the ground..
No wound we bandaged with our eyelids
didn’t fling wide open.
No arena
No child we begat under horses hooves
(What horses?)
No horizon, or memory unbuttoning
in the splendour of its hallway.
No childhood, even remote like Saturn
No lion, as he left at dawn along with his lair
The mountains’ eternal foundations collapsed
I don’t hear the crows cawing in the arac trees*
Eagles were hanged by summits
No echoes
Nothing at all.
Saif al-Rahbi (born 1956) Oman
Source: 'A Taste of Today’s Gulf Literature', Selected and introduced by Margaret Obank and Samuel Shimon, International Journal of Euro-Mediterranean Studies Vol 9, No 2, 2016 (Available at: University Emuni)
* Arac trees - presumably this refers to the drink Arak which is actually a distillation from mature vine grapes mixed with aniseed
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