Oh breast unfolded, oh heart unsealed,
You questioners, so near to disbelief,
You cave sleepers of unutterable number,
Oh you city exodus, you harvest of days
Oh infinite assembly of rows,
You adorned frames of noble tongue,
You breath of warning, first of submitters
Oh witnesses of the month, 2, 3 or 4:
God’s Desire runs through your form into the Ease
Like honey through the comb of your body
Like wine into the cup of your reception,
Like milk of the Camel that emerged, visible, pregnant and revelatory
Like rain upon an earth, then into trees of poetry’s shade,
Their hand does not touch the food of offering
And I am perplexed, filled with the holy terror,
Yet she laughs at what they inform her of.
And by the palm’s extension into the stream, ripened dates fall to her,
“And how shall we speak to one who is still an infant?”
The bond of your silence completes its cycle, so let lips reveal.
Oh beloved, may infancy’s speech be your Eid!
My sweetness, how swiftly your age of jubilation commences!
Oh my people, may the Good News walk with you forever.