In the dark ages, shall they sing?

They shall sing of the dark ages.

(Bertolt Brecht)

The Voice of the Beloved-

A bird floating above bombshells,

His heart white,

White

Torn by the wound of tenderness

Your kisses, my far Beloved

Scar my heart

And make it bleed

Sweet dew

Enchanted, mint-like

This blood of mine

Startling as your voice

Coquettish almost

But oh! So wild and pure

So young

So deep

And light

And ageless

Like a torch burned

My Arab homeland

And scorched my nights

Mellow and slow

With melancholy passion

Of honey and wine

Of cedar wood and cinnamon

Rain-sweetened sadness

Growing drunk

And heavy

With song

Dance, o Beloved

In the vineyards of this night,

For your love is sweeter than wine,

My heart more bitter than ashes

Like the cedars of Lebanon

Is my pain

I was found in the fields

Unaware of my bruises

All exhausted by rapture,

I disturbed not the birds plucking

My eyes

A blind beggar,

I awoke from your love

A homeless traveller

I was baptized by longing

A heretic,

I cried out my faith

He that loves

Minds not

Heeds not

My Beloved is mine

And I am Hers,

I am His

When darkness falls

Love shall turn me dust

A happy song shall be sang

On our graves

By the wayside,

For love is strong as death

And passion relentless as Hades

I am drunk with your love

And reason shall not

Overrule it

At the foot of Mount Carmel

I kissed the earth that was touched

By your heels,

For the dirt Thou hast touched

Is a remedy for my eyes

Quicken, o heart!

The Beloved draws near

For he who surrendered his faith

But not his love

Shall rise in ultimate triumph,

For to him victory and defeat

Are but one and the same,

For love has no answer to itself

But ITSELF

Darkness shall not cover it

Nor shall light turn it blind

No armour shall conquer it

No usurper enslave it

No incentive corrupt it

No oppression defeat it

Nor shall power turn it a servant

Nor convenience make it

Bend to ease

Storms shake it not

Yokes break it not

Would a man offer

All the wealth of his house

To buy love,

Love

Should despise it