Ode to the Sand Lady
A Window into Contemporary Omani Literature
Published: 03:01 PM,Jan 10,2022 | EDITED : 07:01 PM,Jan 10,2022
The following is a translation of a poem by the Omani poet Hilal Al Hajri (1968-) from his first collection titled: “Night Is Mine”, (Muscat: 2006):
Ode to the Sand Lady
Where're you taking my soul?
The world no longer has
A place for madness,
The world no longer has
A place for foreheads.
I come to you from the birth of love
From the death of the impossible,
From a homeland my tears shed before departure.
I'm last of the lovers
I'm first of the lovers.
I love as the rural rain falls on the drowsy palms
I fear the tattlers
And am hurt by the promise, if wasted by years.
Take my hand
I beg your affection as I'm but a child love
Snatched by verse amidst chieftains and the pliant
I beg your affection.
This is my steed
I'll slaughter it for the kindly dervishes of my village
As a prayer
For all the mirrors that wounded us
From love and even yearning
From cradle to certitude
For all sins and steps
As a prayer
For all the gloom in your eyes
From which love and songs seek light
As a prayer
For all the whiteness in my eyes
Dislodged by sadness and desire.
Take my hand
The world no longer has
A place for madness
The world no longer has
A place for foreheads
The world no longer has
A place for madness.
An expanse of desperation
From which our eyes move back
And move forward
A caravan of ancient questions
If doubts deliver to illusions
Would be led astray by a thousand paths
No one is there
On the path.
Take my hand
I'm sick of verse and the tiresome
Of the lust of silence
Of my hidden pride
Of what I want
And of what I don't
Of my steps wobbling from suspicions
And of frivolity from which there's no escape.
Take my hand
An orphan pile of misery and scraps
Of a lost one in a crowd
Of an eye that pleads its dreams
To sleep.
Wounded I come to you, my lady,
Nothing is there between me
And the end save pain
Save yearning
Save defeat.
Take my hand
Doesn't my eye drop blood
When yearning for you?
Isn't there a fracture on my forehead
Or smoke of fire on my eye balls?
Would extinction shelter me
From your gypsy-like love?
Would water today protect me?
I come to you
Nobody in front
Except me
Nobody behind.
I'm estrangement
To the East an earth took me
To love
To the West skies took me.
Take my hand
I shall emigrate from my despair
And ride the seesaw of dreamers
Like others.
Tomorrow we'll dream
Of glory and jasmine
And we'll make our desert anew
And draw our dreams like a kiss
On the lips of stars
And recite our sweetest poems
Burning for a home or a beloved.
We'll make our desert anew
We'll fly a thousand butterflies of love
And a thousand chants.
Won't you shelter me
From the shiver of dreams
From a chilling age like ice
From death and senility that run from tears
To the vein
From a baby-girl who sleeps
On her dreams in my blood
From a sea-gull the harbors led astray
To a death preferred in my eye-balls.
Take my hand
To you I'll declare a fatwa on love:
Love is either loss
Or yearning and sweat
Pouring from the forehead.
I beg your affection
Seize my hand
I'm about
To fly into sadness and mirage
They are but two hands
It is but a hug
It is but a steed
Trapped in love
And pride
And antiquity
And an era of despair and vigor.
Ode to the Sand Lady
Where're you taking my soul?
The world no longer has
A place for madness,
The world no longer has
A place for foreheads.
I come to you from the birth of love
From the death of the impossible,
From a homeland my tears shed before departure.
I'm last of the lovers
I'm first of the lovers.
I love as the rural rain falls on the drowsy palms
I fear the tattlers
And am hurt by the promise, if wasted by years.
Take my hand
I beg your affection as I'm but a child love
Snatched by verse amidst chieftains and the pliant
I beg your affection.
This is my steed
I'll slaughter it for the kindly dervishes of my village
As a prayer
For all the mirrors that wounded us
From love and even yearning
From cradle to certitude
For all sins and steps
As a prayer
For all the gloom in your eyes
From which love and songs seek light
As a prayer
For all the whiteness in my eyes
Dislodged by sadness and desire.
Take my hand
The world no longer has
A place for madness
The world no longer has
A place for foreheads
The world no longer has
A place for madness.
An expanse of desperation
From which our eyes move back
And move forward
A caravan of ancient questions
If doubts deliver to illusions
Would be led astray by a thousand paths
No one is there
On the path.
Take my hand
I'm sick of verse and the tiresome
Of the lust of silence
Of my hidden pride
Of what I want
And of what I don't
Of my steps wobbling from suspicions
And of frivolity from which there's no escape.
Take my hand
An orphan pile of misery and scraps
Of a lost one in a crowd
Of an eye that pleads its dreams
To sleep.
Wounded I come to you, my lady,
Nothing is there between me
And the end save pain
Save yearning
Save defeat.
Take my hand
Doesn't my eye drop blood
When yearning for you?
Isn't there a fracture on my forehead
Or smoke of fire on my eye balls?
Would extinction shelter me
From your gypsy-like love?
Would water today protect me?
I come to you
Nobody in front
Except me
Nobody behind.
I'm estrangement
To the East an earth took me
To love
To the West skies took me.
Take my hand
I shall emigrate from my despair
And ride the seesaw of dreamers
Like others.
Tomorrow we'll dream
Of glory and jasmine
And we'll make our desert anew
And draw our dreams like a kiss
On the lips of stars
And recite our sweetest poems
Burning for a home or a beloved.
We'll make our desert anew
We'll fly a thousand butterflies of love
And a thousand chants.
Won't you shelter me
From the shiver of dreams
From a chilling age like ice
From death and senility that run from tears
To the vein
From a baby-girl who sleeps
On her dreams in my blood
From a sea-gull the harbors led astray
To a death preferred in my eye-balls.
Take my hand
To you I'll declare a fatwa on love:
Love is either loss
Or yearning and sweat
Pouring from the forehead.
I beg your affection
Seize my hand
I'm about
To fly into sadness and mirage
They are but two hands
It is but a hug
It is but a steed
Trapped in love
And pride
And antiquity
And an era of despair and vigor.