Nouriyya

To Sheikh Said Takieddine

A gypsy girl — the roads are drunk with her,
and the flute, the reed-pipe, and the buzuq.

Light of step, all aquiver,
like a moth burning in the light.

In her palm the tambourine rattles —
what is a necklace, a bracelet, an earring to that?

Oh, the magic of her as she sings, while her companion,
mad with love, chokes upon his sighs.

She sang, and the people swayed in rapture;
yet when you begged alms of them, they scattered —

all but a youth who flaunted his fortune:
he beckoned, and in his hand flashed the "banknote."

He went on overpraising her artistry,
guile in his eyes, and lust.

He called and beckoned, past all hope,
then reeled back shouting: Woe to them — they have stolen!

They took my clothes and spat upon my honor —
"gypsies" — for nothing but sin were they made!

The companions came running in a clamor,
their breasts seething with rage,

and brought her to the policeman, to search out what
the rags had hidden behind her shoulder —

and behold: a child, dying of hunger,
not a breath of life left between his ribs.