Monday, 16 August 2010

The Book, My Book: Last Chapter

Poem from Anna to Khaleel on her wedding night:

How did I not know I thirsted?

If I had known how parched my soul was before you loved me I'd have cursed it!

My lips are cracked like the wadi bed from dry.

The drought of your kisses; should anyone touch as dust they will crumble.

Only the rain can kiss the desolate dust of my body and my soul not die.

Some say true love is just a mirage men stumble towards in the burning, searing sun of discontent.

If love of one is a figment of my imagination, if love is a lie in my mind's eye:

Let my veins shrink to dirt!

If love in its true form is a mirage, still I say of men to seek it!

For all else is surely desert.

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