To Riyadh

 
It’s 05:09,
I had suhūr
before dawn break;
the palm trees,
swaying in the wind
with backdrop of deep blue sky;
birds are chirping,
in synchronies of divine grace
/and/
I wonder,
how will I be able to—
how can I—how can I—
stay away from you,
take another place of dwelling.
The sun is rising up on the city,
closing in on my heart;
and oh my heart—how it aches, and
my head—it is heavy; and
my tears—they have cristallised
in the corners of my eyes; and
the palm of my hands—they, they,
they rest with tremors
on my face.
What parting would that be,
what disgrace;
that after all waters have
come to a resting place,
they should succumb to
a low tide of separation
and heartbreak.
I am [home]; then
why is it far away; then
I miss home; but I
am right here, in its midst—
in Riyadh—
/oh Riyadh/
how have I immensely loved you—
I immensely love you;
how have I left everything for you—
I left it all behind for you;
I have rewired my compass
an infinite amount of times;
its arrows were lost trying to
point due North. Where is
/North/?
I took the arrows,
glued them on top of one another, and
pointed them in the direction
of all the great palm trees,
the oases of wet muds,
the orangy desert sands,
the sun that sets on a holy land.
I took the compass,
tucked it in my bag,
by the Book and the proud green cape;
so that all the murmurs of the wind,
may always find their way,
and prepare the path
that brings me
[h]ome.

26 March 2024