Do Not Cloak Yourself in Fog
Shake the fear from your lashes,
Do not leap onto still waters,
Do not curl up in despair,
Do not stretch out on mirages,
Do not cloak yourself in fog.
The scent of phlegm will not triumph,
The blind demon will not prevail,
The beautiful mole on your cheek will not fade—
The touch of your fingertips will nurture
a magnificent dream at dawn.
Sing, Halima, the acidic death will not last—
Death is but one,
You will not die more than what fate has written for you.
Do not wet your hands in darkness,
Do not rinse your mouth with the mud of sorrows,
You are magnificent…
Do not pollute your lips with the cup of spies,
The sun will rise between your arms,
Pure and clean…
Dreams will rain from your eyes,
planted and radiant.
Do not weep…
Let the wound weep the sin.
Shake the dust from your braids,
Today a dove will hatch—
A white dove born of your patience,
Soaring above your eyebrows,
Praying with joy,
Singing with delight and dreams,
Until peace spreads everywhere.
