Her Black Hair

I, and, my black hair

Gypsy-like and frizzy

Miss your fingers and comb,

Traveling through its locks,

As clouds travel

From country to country.

It’s still long, Mother

The angels braid it

Before each time we meet.

They know that you

Adore my hair.

All those in graves

Know that my Mother

Is my only Love.

Do come today and comb

My black hair.

Loay Hussein Taha

Translated from Arabic by Lina R. Hamadeh