To the Here and Now

^{translated from the Arabic by Khaled Mattawa} 

^{for Najib Elhassadi on the road to the airport at the moment he turns to look back.}

Be kind to your foolish lovers 
with their naïve infatuation. 
We are your children,  
newly descended from  
the meagre shelters of myth.  
We count you on our fingers,  
pain by pain.

Be kind to our faded clothes 
in the span of your burning summer. 
Be kind to us,  
worshippers of the here and now 
as you weave the garments  
of your coming womb, 
and grant your crooked palm trees 
to the obscure horizon.

And as you spill the faces  
of friends on the quay’s pavement, 
be kind to our faces, caught deep  
into your blistering winds.
Be kind to us.  
Of your treasures, our only share  
is the asphalt that drags us  
to the airport’s clamor.

To you we offer  
this laughter passed around  
behind the darkness of our hearts,  
these empty pockets billowing  
far from the orchards  
of your sweet dates, 
and our dry lips which you push off  
to nursemaids made of paper.

And you have us— 
we have none but you. 
We curse the elegance  
of distant cities and return  
to your elegant ruin.

None but you, 
we settle in you,  
full of sleeplessness, 
and we sleep 
to the scent of cloves 
on your miserly breasts.