The Thief Poem by Fatima Naoot

He had one heart
And an eagle
Waited
On a far hill
Sweep the house, sow wheat
But
Do not feed birds in its presence
To keep it hungry
- with his hooked beak -
Perhaps a new heart will grow
In that torn chest in the mountains.
The Lord taught me
How to go
With a stiff upper lip
I climb,
Clean his spectacles with the hem of my dress
To be seen from afar
By the eagle
With its keen eyesight
I measure the red threads of blood
Coming down to the feet
Shortly
I will weave them into something warm
As it is cold up there.
I have no sympathy with the thief
Who angered the sun
I am eager to fulfil its will
Carefully
With my scalpel
I remove tissue growing near the wound.
Then
Check the locks
And the solidity of the shackles on his wrists
As provisioned by the punishment
Iron does not cheat
Deep in the earth it learned
That knowledge belongs to God
Obediently it proceeded
- after blacksmiths had forged it to many shapes -
to execute the punishment
He was disillusioned!
He was not received with one single clap
As he had expected
From those staring upwards
They,
In their ignorance,
Snatched the stolen torch from his hand,
Put it out in straw,
And apologized to heaven
Every day he will grow a new heart
So much is certain
- Greeks do not lie -
Not because ignorance is part of mankind
As long as they fail to be gods
And not because I hate him so much
That
I do not look
At the white dress in my wardrobe
- Before going to sleep at night -
Because,
Up till now
It did not teach me,
An overseas absent man's wife,
How to undo my spinning at night
As the loom is about to finish
Moreover,
I do not like red.