My Sleeping Beauty

As she lies in bed 
in my Baba’s house,
room infused with incense, 
bed draped with 
the finest quilt our hosts could find,
I take my phone 
and start writing this…
 
 
I feel like 
I have taken a journey of a thousand miles 
and finally reached the shore, 
where I have found my companion in life –
stood there – 
on the banks of the ocean 
tugging onto a rope 
tied to her boat 
as she beckons me 
with her other hand. 
 
 
“Of course I’m coming”, I say.
“Of course we’ll sail away”, I add. 
 
 
That’s the metaphor our love life feels like to me. 
Me searching for her, 
and her there, 
waiting for my appearance, 
ready to take me to better 
adventures.
 
 
I can hear the vehicles 
passing by the highway 
not far from the house – 
yet the engine sounds are overshadowed
by the thousands of crickets 
chirping in the night;
as if soundtracking my besotful mood.
 
 
She is beautiful, my wife. 
 
 
I look at her 
and wonder 
if she is dreaming. 
I see how she’s cuddling the pillow 
and it makes me smile. 
 
 
There’s a tasbeeh 
hanging from the corner of the bed, 
so I lift it off 
and place it in her hands, 
which are together 
as if in prayer. 
She doesn’t twitch.
 
 
I watch her torso 
as she breathes in and out, 
her body rising and sinking smoothly
in rhythm with her breathing.
 
 
She is beautiful, my wife.
 
 
I want to sing to her, 
but that will wake her up 
and I no longer will be able 
to adore her sleeping self.
 
 
I pause, 
and I think to myself: 
“When she wakes up, 
I’ll tell her 
I wrote a poem about 
my sleeping beauty”.
sleeping-beauty
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This entry was posted in Africa.

One comment on “My Sleeping Beauty

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