He was no more than a courier
On his back a sack of letters
He had a bicycle
A route
And a cap
He was no more than a courier
He returned home exhausted
And sang
He sang alone and solo
He was individual and eternal
He sent all the letters
From himself to no one
He was no more than a courier
A sky, a house
A woman putting the sun in her children’s pocket
He willed, and it was so
Then she decreed
From her hand the sea surged
From her robe cascaded fields and songs
She decreed
And her children grew in the soil of time
He was no more than a courier
But he developed his craft
The prophets became his letters
Who is knocking on the door?
A girl said to her neighbour:
Beware
Perhaps he is a new Messenger.
Ali Al Jallawi (born 1975) Bahrain
Translated by Ayesha Saldanha
Source: Ali Al Jallawi's web site
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