"Ode to my non-Arabic Lover".
I couldn't love you, you see,
Even though I love you.
Soon it will be too late.
Too dark, even at midday,
And I will forget my English.
It's one thing to make love and say yes,
Say more in your language.
But how will I ever translate my Arab anger, my alliterations,
Those rough sounds that scratch their way out of my throat,
Which you will merely find sexy.
And yes, I know you could learn your Fairuzes
And your Umm Kulthums,
Your curse words, your Beiruts, your Niles,
Your street names and your yallas.
But what will happen when I begin
to lose this English I have trained myself to speak?
I'm already old and walk night corridors
whispering things even I don't get in a language you
don't understand.
Following sunlit Sundays to long tables
under the shade of grape vines and the smell of raw meat
And arak.
You will get bored of all these songs stamping
their dabkeh inside my head.
Walak ooff ooff ooff.
Do not call me cruel, say I love my language more than
my love, my love.
I don't.
But you see, I'm already tired.
And you, you already mistranslate.
Thank you.
All right.
[APPLAUSE]
All right.