Jazra Khaleed
Translated from the Greek by Peter Constantine
Give me a person to cover me,
there is a draft of cold air in my loneliness;
dig as I might in my belly I find
only stones.
(Perhaps you should dig with me too.)
On the way to my face I collect
rocks by the handful.
That is why I tell you, give me a person!
To lie on him
in all my meridians,
in all my latitudes,
to rest,
to drink his sweat,
to sleep.
Let me enjoy a little this fluffed
warmth.

Give me a person,
a person with a cause,
a heart that does not function with a valve,
lips that do not err in kisses.
Someone who writes human poems,
or at least cries when he hears
the sound of Coltrane
in his breath.
How terrible it is losing
three fingers in such a crowd.

Give me a person to help me
as I enter and exit my hands,
as my trousers fall
or I step on the laces of my otherness.
Look how my footsteps shiver with cold
as I scramble to leave behind me Kallidromiou Street.
(This lack of asphalt within me
often leaves me speechless.)

Give me a person within whom three chords sound.
A person who will shake my gender
within the chill of the A7 bus.
I need his chest so that I can hear my heartbeat,
I need his shoulders to carry my life.
Is there no person for me?
Just give me someone!
Even one who sleeps standing
rasping.

At least a woman who defends my voice
with her larynx.
She would certainly be for me!
Or give me at least her embrace, along with an
owner's manual.

Now that the stigmata on my palms have healed
I can pray to the people
dressed in my Sunday best.
from the book THE LIGHT THAT BURNS US / World Poetry Books
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