BAGHDAD NIGHT

1

At the level of the heart—above and below,

Baghdad night, sweat and sand.

On the lips, eroded names.

Everywhere, silence and war.

At the level of the heart—the sign of the star,

Turning centuries to ash,

Gravestones, ancient scrolls.

Everywhere, silence and war.

At the level of the heart—the world intact.

Baghdad night. Sweat and sand.

And a wound without a bottom.

Baghdad silence—and war.

2

You who support the saffron-colored sky

Lord of the scarlet spirits of the desert,

of the script of filigreed knots

of the seeds of the pomegranate, blood on the dish,

You, the perfected, glare at fate

with an unwavering eye,

cleaning rusted old weapons, peering

through a sniper’s scope from on high.

3

Bird-catcher, strange bird-catcher.

At the Baghdad bazaar, baklava.

The heart grows cold, and colder.

A bird fell, fell dead.

What do you want, my saffron beauty:

a dead bird, a gold wing?

Morning to morning, the bird-catcher twines

the thin threads of his traps.

4

You

I must forgive

then ask forgiveness

of myself

for asking forgiveness,

because I can do no other

than love you

but when I die

who will there be

to pray for you?

5

Oh mother my Quran,

cure me of death,

my breasts have opened

and the milk flows

Oh mother my madness,

Your warm withered arm

embittered with sweetness

the blood of your milk

Oh mother my Almighty,

whether I’m one of yours or not

save me from the night

carry me on your shoulders

And when you lose all strength,

lament with the gulls

as the warm Baghdad night

cools in my eyes

Translated by Askold Melnyczuk