The Hand Of A Jew Poem by Sayeed Abubakar

Thinking him a man, I stretched out
My right hand towards him.

As soon as I kept my hand on his hand,
My hand got wet with a horrid smell.

After then, washing my hand many a time with ashes
And sweet-smelling soaps,

Bathing in the rivers
And in all the oceans of the world,

I sprayed perfumes, sacredness, hatred and love
In my whole body

Still from this right hand and from this body
That horrid inhuman smell did not vanish anyway.

Now I brood over that hand--
Alas! Was it the hand of a fox scratching corpses?
Or was it the hand of a vulture or of a hyena?