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Poem
A Woman Made of Dew
Arabic Poem By: Falah Al-Shabender*
Translated into English By
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===============================

From the vastness of my heart,
My thought, the embers of my blood, 
And the child in me, 
That is a child bigger than me, 
comes love, 
As pastoral personas gather with the wind and rain.
O you, the good spontaneous one!
From here is the passage;
A floating feather is the twilight 
opening windows of light
for doves 
driven to the uttermost flight;
And from the arrogance of wishful thinking
Stems a big,
Very big, 
Dream!

O my paper kite!
You, the good spontaneous one! 
From here is the passage;
Water,
In any tension within a hard rock, 
Is a being aspires for a free herb; 
Weep ...... in order to be!
From here is the passage;
She is a woman made of dew
Trickling into silence as dew,
Light seeping through a drop of dew,
Clear sky pouring dew, 
She’s that too!
But my thirst is, 
A couple of lips
or closer to the dew!

From here is the passage,
O moment of fragrance...
Like a little bird 
The twilight slips away 
And I get bewildered…
She passes through me;
Her shirt tackles the wind intimately; 
The most delectable thing in it
 is .. 
The secret, 
The fruit suspended in it,
 And we picked it, a rendezvous!

The words sweat;
Only if they could be the open arms
To gather her shyness; 
Oh, how I desire your shyness! 

As she fidgeted, hiding inside her ring... 
A circle within a circle.. 
She portrayed her hand a cup, 
She saw what she saw, and thus yielded.
In ecstasy, I close my eyes,
Your face is my first surprise.

O my dream of the first time, 
My lady... 
Forgive my delusion, my insanity, and this haughtiness;
Your eyes are the impossible, 
I love you all that should be, 
And despite all of that could be;

Like the Sun, 
And like freedom, 
I turn, and she turns;
Tightened to break loose,
I breathe her,
Seek the silk of her nakedness,
And overly indulge in kissing;
She knows this is my triumph, 
A gap she realizes, as an enduring wound,
Seeking the calm of goodness in my touch.

I turn and she turns,
Wrapped in my haze,
The wretch’s fair maiden
Sighs on my bosom and whispers softly:
Oh, how horribly handsom is my prince!
Grant me hunger,  
And all the Love!
--------------------
Translated by: 
Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
USA

February 21, 2010
Revised: July 4, 2012

*Falah Al-Shabender is a poet from Iraq
Original text in Arabic: http://www.alnoor.se/article.asp?id=159735
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