The Truth

by Fayssal Chafaki
(Rabat, Rabat, Morocco)

I remember her eyes when she talked to me one evening

No, it was an afternoon, midday, or maybe one morning

Was it daylight, or the night, I wish sincerely I could tell,

As I saw darkness, and the sun was there, or heard a bell.



I spent an age to realize what was meant by her shrewd look

Describing her dark eyes I simply read every single book

From Deor to the Pair, from the Rime to a certain Letter,

I turned every page, followed every word, and did better.



One eye is the planets, the stars, the universe so immense

The second eye, truly I do not know where to commence

Before I met her eyes I used to have wings and I could fly

Due to strange gravity, I hover now between earth and sky.



I still see those eyes when she talked to me of a pure love

That pretty morning, evening, or when the sun was above

Which time if I am asked, all that I could really remember,

It was cold during the month of June and hot in December.



Gazing deep into those pairs of dark eyes I lost all gesture

For what I saw that day or that night is beyond my capture

Enough is when I met her glance of fire for the first time

An eternity was gone and rewritten anew with this rhyme.



She told me, as we sat, the sweetest words I've ever heard

A gentle breeze blew, her lips moved and mine were gird,

Too close we were that I could feel her warm breast beside,

And her quivering heart when she spoke: be ready to ride!



A horse with wings, strong and able to chase the swift wind

To travel across skies and take thy kind steps near to Hind,

To show thee from above her high dwellings where she plays

Her girlish game, and where she hides, and who she slays.



I ran from her once but it is impossible for me to do it now

I came back and fell into her arms, not asking even how,

My end, my torture, my lasting pain started with her kiss

To begin a weird journey for me, to fear the chance to miss.



Miss, madam, lady, girl, dear, my beloved one or whatever

Thou, if my heart is sinking now, are my love, I would never

Betray thee, though my love seems lost and I am confused

Not my heart that stands for thee and my body had refused.



She told me, asked me: if men are to be loved, for one thing,

Not their treasures are found, or had they died for the Ring,

Nor even heroes of some wrath or famous who tried the Light

And great for them was that they lost the final decisive fight.



When do men love, and they are sure, do they truly mean it,

Or, but for men, love is no longer than a very quick minute?

The truth, my lady: a man keeps in love and dies for the best,

Where always the Love of the One exists within a solid chest.





Poems of Youth

Summer 2005

Fayssal Chafaki

فيصل بن محمد الشفاقي

February 2012