for Beth
I want tears to form again
in the shriveled glands of these eyes
dried all these long years
by too much heated knowing.
I want tears to course down
these parched cheeks,
to star these cracked lips
like an improbable dew
in the heart of a desert.
I want words to burble up
like happiness, like the thought of love,
like the overwhelming, shimmering thought of you
to a nomad who
has only known drought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great celebration of tears and how they can make a mirage in the desert that is an oasis for a nomad. Great poem.
I'm glad you like the poem, and thanks for taking the time to read and comment. I have written several poems about nomads over the years. One of them says " The Bedouin has learned how not to want." I'm not sure where that came from, but it seems to ring true.