All my life I have prayed in languages I did not know
But is it not enough that I carry my body around?
This body that has soaked itself in rivers I have known,
has dried itself in the wind flowing from your shifting shores.
Even when I sit and look at golden sunsets across the hills,
my body that is in travel and unrest
still finds salvation in memories of the soft afterglow
seeping through the translucence of my window.
In a house that I have left long ago.

Does the moon still bathe the darkness
Of the crooked-staircased terrace
Where I would spend my summer evenings
Of longings and pain?
Crying out with the final glory of the setting sun
That washed over my body
When I would lie in languor
Looking out of the grilled window
That segmented the azure sky
Dotted with a million flying birds
With whom I shared
The lazy afternoons of my sleepy city –
Home. I roll the word in my tongue.

Is it not enough that this body holds my desires and my prayers
When I sit in front of you in submission – time?
What language should I use to reach out to you?
Is it not enough that this vessel carries the water
That’ll dissolve inseparably
and feed its desires into you – time?
My love for you, time,
feels like a second that can last an eternity.