Aminah Sings Again

Aminah Sings Again
© Surazeus
2024 12 09

When I climb up in the sycamore tree, 
I wonder as I watch the people cheer  
if the rebel who overthrew the king 
will call me to share supper at his house 
where we will discuss, while eating roast lamb, 
how to build a social system that is fair. 

Women freed from prisons by cheering crowds 
wander lost in strange world of liberty 
after too many years locked in dark cells, 
eyes blurred with tears as they gaze at the sky 
blue with excessive beauty of despair, 
and breathe deep shocking energy of hope. 

Frail and hungry from years without good food, 
Aminah lingers near hard prison wall, 
afraid to venture from shadow of fear, 
but stares numb when three vibrant teenage girls 
embrace her fragile soul with caring arms, 
and call her mother as they drown in tears. 

Reaching hand out slowly from sunless cell 
where her withered heart still trembles in fear, 
Aminah whispers name of each small child 
who grew to women since she saw them last, 
but numb from sorrow in the bitter cage 
she finds no tears to weep, so she just smiles. 

Riding with her three daughters in small car, 
Aminah smiles with strange vision of joy 
to see sunlight gleam over distant hills, 
flickering in leaves of wind-happy trees, 
then flash on Queig River with tears of hope 
which swells great as thunder inside her heart. 

Sitting in fruit garden behind their home, 
dressed in clean thob embroidered with date palms, 
Aminah drinks water drawn from the well 
now draped with branches of tall jasmine trees, 
remembering how she planted their small seeds 
in soil of her heart when her girls were small. 

Gasping with delight of forgotten faith, 
Aminah holds her qanbus with eager hands, 
tunes and strums each thin string in harmony 
with ancient passion of her desert heart, 
then plays sweet heart-enchanting muwashshah 
while singing lament of her long lost love. 

When I climb up in the sycamore tree, 
I rejoice as I watch barn swallows swoop 
that Aminah sings again with bright joy, 
then I weep for all the years that she lost 
while her babies have grown into young women 
who dance around her now with ecstasy.