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A wave from the sea

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“A wave from the sea in my hand. It seeps and trickles away. It works its way around the rock in my chest, comes close, relaxes, and surrenders. It clings to the hair on my chest, so as not to go back to its source. Hot and humid A wave like a cat munching on an apple. She then kisses me with the frivolity of a wanton: “I have a right to love you, and you have a right to love me.” Love is not a right, kitten, and I’m exactly forty. She withdraws into a corner. “And I’m a feminine half-moon running after a male.” Hot and humid. Yet the little body is temperature regulated, warm in winter and the cool in summer. A fresh body like the shore of a new sea, whose mosses small animals have not yet touched. It slips, and moves away; it burns, and comes closer. The aroma of milk holds me away from it. “Why don’t we hang August on a chair? Why don’t we swim in the whiteness of sleep?” She covers her eyes that sparkle at night. Because you’re young. “I’m not young,” she roars. “I’m a feminine half-moon running after a male, following the aroma of cardamom. Don’t I have the right to swim?” But this whiteness is not a sea. She gets angry and bites on an apple and her fingernails. I gather the two lips with my fingers so that they become larger, turning into a kiss. “There! You do love me. Confess you love me. Tell me you love me Why then don’t you drink my salt?” Because thirst shatters the elegance of my spirit. She gets angry, goes and squats in the corner: “I don’t want poetry. I don’t love poetry. I want the body. I want a piece of the body. Coward!” A coward for your sake, not mine. “What have you to do with what belongs to me? I’m free to do what I want with what I own.” She stops. Gets closer. Her meow becomes coarser: “Give me something to play with! Give me a doll! Any doll. A small cat, taut and firm, over which I can pass my hands gently until its saliva flows over my breast.”

The wave was about to drown, but a violent explosion shook the rocks in the sea. The wave flew to the road, and I flew to the bed.”

—Mahmoud Darwish, Memory for Forgetfulness

Written by Pranaya

August 17, 2014 at 10:18 AM

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