Half-baked

by Shamsur Rahman Faruqi



The wind of heaven
breezed into my house
without fear. I asked her,
When will you turn into
a whirling flame?
We have to burn my
heart-and-soul rubbish
to ashes.
I can't stop shivering
the walls tremble
It's so cold
it freezes the blood
in my hair-roots
The rafters shrivel
like junkies' eyes.
Look--that miserable cat 
hiding in the corner
the brown dirty clouds 
of her staring eyes
can't rain roses, poppies, sparks.
A black cat wandering 
hiding in a dark house.
Aren't you ever going to turn into 
a whirling flame? 


The wind of heaven answered, 
In the thread of my breath
lurks a brutal redness 
like blood held in a delicate vein.  
If you grab me tight
			and squeeze me
you'll see the sparks dripping.  
Take a fistful of me
put me in your mouth 
swallow me and see.
I'm a golden arrow, 
I pierce the throat and turn into
			flame. You
don't know how to burn.




[;xaam soziim-o-naarasiidah tamaam] 
translated by Frances W. Pritchett