My Great-Grandfather I: Dunya Poem by Sayed Gouda

My great grandfather
orders me not to stay awake late,
not to loiter at the street corner
waiting for ‘Dunya',
the beauty of the district,
passing by me.
i get drunk from her scent.

My great grandfather
orders me not to peep at her
when, on the roof of her house,
with her soft hands,
she stretches a clothesline
to hang her laundry.
She sits, relaxed,
exposing her legs,
absent-minded, singing:
‘Fire! Fire!
Your love is fire! '

To my great-grandfather,
i'm not the favourite one,
but i always come to him,
i kiss his right hand.
In silence, i sit between his hands,
a child,
i don't dare to look in his eyes.
i ask for candy.
He gives me some.
i complain about the kids in our lane.
He keeps his silence.
It thunders in my heart:
No justice today!
Today, the scale broke,
and the snake ate the sparrow,
and my great-grandfather's stature
no longer has authority.
Nothing remained today
but ‘Dunya',
the beauty of the district,
on the roof of her house singing:
‘Fire! Fire!
Your love is fire! '

Nothing today but
a noble's sorrow
learning from a prophet's sorrow
who bemoans his lack of power.
He hears the god of the house saying:
‘You are not dear to us! '
Tears flood his eyes
and fire blazes on!
and fire blazes on!

08 October 2007
16 October 2007