Poem of the Week, by Taha Muhammad Ali

Meeting at an Airport

- Taha Muhammad Ali

You asked me once,

on our way back

from the midmorning

trip to the spring:

"What do you hate,

and who do you love?"

And I answered,

from behind the eyelashes

of my surprise,

my blood rushing

like the shadow

cast by a cloud of starlings:

"I hate departure…

I love the spring

and the path to the spring,

and I worship the middle

hours of morning."

And you laughed…

and the almond tree blossomed

and the thicket grew loud with nightingales.

…A question

now four decades old:

I salute that question's answer;

and an answer,

as old as your departure;

I salute that answer's question…

…And today,

it's preposterous,

here we are at a friendly airport

by the slimmest of chances,

and we meet.

Ah, Lord!

we meet.

And here you are

asking—again,

it's absolutely preposterous—

I recognized you

but you didn't recognize me.

"Is it you?!"

But you wouldn't believe it.

And suddenly

you burst out and asked:

"If you're really you,

What do you hate

and who do you love?!"

And I answered—

my blood

fleeing the hall,

rushing in me

like the shadow

cast by a cloud of starlings:

"I hate departure,

and I love the spring,

and the path to the spring,

and I worship the middle

hours of morning."

And you wept,

and flowers bowed their heads,

and doves in the silk of their sorrow stumbled.


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For more information on Taha Muhammad Ali, please click here: http://www.poetryinternational.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=3181

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