Down my spine it dances again it did before
Tickling bubbling rolling free of shame or bounds
Poured Champagne on a pigeon’s chick’s yellow hair
This drop of sweat its origin unclear as if born to slaves
And they imagine a boiling pot crops, meat, spices
Worthy, valuable, pearl-like; it rolls and rolls and rolls as if chilled
Steam around the pot from my body from my nerves
Down it went then when we said “Down with shah”
Down it goes now when Toronto’s cold is replaced A
Cruel humid heat rules steam from a boiling pot; inside
Was it shame or fear or breaking the rules, the laws, or the taboo?
Is it heat, expectation, addiction or lousiness of a fat useless body?
Down my spine sweat drop dances again as it did in Kan’s mosque
Arabia dancing dunes Ali & Lawrence
On the screen Seen heard sweat drops around the neck
On the spine crawl, roll; find the path as do ants a lice a ladybird
This rebel kicked and got out drop of sweat was born
Soon stood on its feet hen’s chick baby goat lamb
Like that night heat; heat confusion fusion illusion
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem