The Dissident Student

For years he listens to me
Like the trees listen to the seasons.
With me he crossed the current
To the fountain . . . He never lets me rest, even during my siesta,
Dictating into my tired mouth the most confusing gibberish.
Yet always mindful, as if he was holding back.

One day in my old age, he, blue like a diamond, bursts onto me
Strips off my turban,
Throws my ink and my tattered papers into my face,
And takes off as if for a rendezvous with fate.

For years people never stopped visiting
To console me. I used to indulge them
Without any conviction.
For even now, ever since he destroyed my isolated perch
And left,
I see in his footprints
A path for wisdom beyond my inkpot and my paper.

Fawzi Karim
Translated by Saadi Simawe and Melissa Brown
Poetry International 10
Iraqi Poetry Today
Edited by Saadi Simawe

Copyright © 2006 by Poetry International.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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