I remember the village winter, where drops of light came sprinkling
Through the gaps in the clouds, like melodies
Sliding between the strings of an instrument set atremble by the darkness
It had sung before--in the morning...why am I being so calculating?...as a child I would simply smile
At my nights and days, their exultant boughs thickly laden with houri eye flowers.
And we--as our booming grandfather laughed or sang in the shade of the reed pavilion
And his tenants waited for “Your bounteous rain, O Lord,” and my brothers in forest haunts
Hunted rabbits and butterflies, and Ahmad the caretaker--
We would gaze into the reed pavilion’s tawny reflection in the river
And we would raise our eyes to the clouds: they will send their raindrops streaming forth.
The heavens will thunder, the river depths will ring, the palm crowns will stir
Lightning will flare, kindling them blue, then green, then it will disappear.
And the heavens will open gate upon gate for its “bounteous rain,” from which
     the river will come back, laughing, filled full,
Crowned with bubbles, it will come back green, it will come back brown, choked with
    melodies and sighs
And under the palms where fronds are still dripping, making a second rain,
The bubbles dance as they burst--look, they are dates
Falling into the Virgin’s hand as she eagerly shakes
The slender palm trunk (Your child’s crown will be light, not gold,
His love of others will crucify him, he will heal the blind
And he will raise from the depths of the grave a dead man, crushed by the weariness
Of a long journey to the darkness of death, he will clothe his bones with flesh
And kindle a fire in his icy heart, through his love the other will spring forth!)

**********************

The sky flashed lightning, and there where the river bends
The balcony of the nobleman’s daughter appeared
And floated, circling, suspended in the air without support, kissing the water,
Surrounded by blossoming flowers
(Dewy necklaces of ivy with glints of white)
And the lovely lady’s nurse, whose eyes are outlined with passion and lack of sleep.

**************************

O rain so silken
Weep, daughters of the nobleman
O rain so white
Weep, daughters of the knight
O rain of gold.

**************************

The roads have been cut, this “bounteous rain’s” scissors have cut and covered them,
And the footbridges cling to the palm trunks in the rain
Like drowning men from Sindbad’s ship, like a green story Ahmad the caretaker
Puts off and abandons till tomorrow, as he hands cups of tea
Around the room, fingers his rifle, coughs, then his eyes cross to the balcony
And pierce the darkness.
He cries out: “Grandfather”--(my brother in gossip):
“Shall we sit here long, waiting in the wet darkness of the pavilion?
When will the rain stop?”

*******************************

The sky thundered, and the balcony of the nobleman’s daughter
Circled and burst apart.
Then on the horizon the clouds’ rainbow peak
Appeared. There, where the beautiful lady’s balcony used to catch and hold the eye,
There was nothing to see but the twilight’s rosy glow.

******************************

Thirty years gone, and I have grown old: how much love, how much passion
Has flamed in my heart!
Yet, whenever the thunder claps its hands
I strain my eyes, watching: perhaps the balcony will glitter
And I will see the nobleman’s daughter, coming to our rendezvous!
But I have not seen her. My desires are mere air, vanities,
A plant without fruit or flowers.

-- London (February 24, 1963)