To the One Who Called Me Her Younger Brother
Was it an early-summer’s fair day’s afternoon
He rode his tall white hairy horse
To the Rocky Mount’s top
And enjoyed in numinous silence
The old city’s beautiful view.
Or it was a chilly winter’s morning
He was sitting with his beloved
In the scribed-stones’ closet, of
Carved wooden windows and doors
Covered with colored thick carpet curtains,
And the birch-bark’s roof.
Bathed in warm water, her silky curls played
With her glowing cheek
Her embroidered velvet’s pharan bore roses’ fragrance.
She was serving him herself with
Samovar, Kehwa with corn-bread
In his Egyptian gold-tinted goblet.
And giving a sounding kiss on brow
For his every slow sip.
The great king’s greater king-father
Thought of the Grand Mosque
In the ancient city’s Centre;
Erected of several hundred soaring-cedars’ pillars
Supporting the lofty worked-wood’s cover.
On tall towers
Thousand pigeons shall nest
And eagles shall love loud neighing;
And on hundred high-hanging windows
In autumns’ forenoons, bask in sun.
There tens of thousands shall
together pray
And a blue-watered pool in its interior
With high springing fountains
Shall engage, inspire the country-boys
Following their fathers
On the festivals’ days.
And see the sweet coincidence
Beauty upon Beauty!
You and the Mosque
Occur at the same place!
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