If I set myself to write
Of the love that holds my heart
A wondrous great
kitab
Could not contain it all.
I long for thee as one
Whose dhow in the
kherif
Is blown adrift and lost
In the grey and empty sea.
The curving of my breasts
Like apples sweet and small
Are thine to caress
When night turns dusk to dawn.
Then lay between these breasts
And call thy life fulfilled.
And never be denied
This well of happiness.
Poem written by young Somali woman to her English lover (1940s)
Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteFor those unschooled in the languages of the Dark Continent: "kitab" means "book".
ReplyDelete