My Work - Poetry

Without Even a Sancho

O! "Wajd" .. O! "Waddah" .. O! "Wiaam" *
If only you knew how, when night falls,
My sleep is lost in its darkness
And the ghosts spring out
Dancing over my corpse till day break
O my cherished loved ones
O! "Wajd" .. O! "Wiaam" .. O! "Waddah"
How does an old warrior hope
To invade a foreign land
Travelling on a grey, sick horse
Well past its prime
With no companion save a broken sword
With a dented edge?
I would that this Don Quixote
Could take a short rest
Before passing away.
If only I could mix the words,
Dip my brush in their colours
And paint,
Then this sadness in my heart would wither and die
It would bring its own death
And in its place foliage would spring
And flowers would blossom
But I live here bonded to misery
All of them gone and I am left behind
Only desolation remains
All of them gone: Kinsmen, friends, callers
Even my beloved Muse
Oh! "Wiaam" .. "Waddah" .. "Wajd"
Sleeplessness has drained me
Remoteness has consumed me
And Longing and Love.

Cardiff, 1985