KAWABIS

Kawabis in the bright palms sits

With darkness on her eyes.

She hears the zakkia’s creaking sound

And the old bullock tramping round

Daylong through the ffies.

Kawabis’ blind eyes cannot see

How green the cotton grows,

Nor how the blessed water streams

Like daylight in a world of dreams

Through barley where it blows.

Even the bullock too is blind,

Yet he is well content

To turn the water wheel all day

The same old circuit for his pay

Of evening’s nourishment.

Little Kawabis keeps so still,

But fleet her mind, and far

It sails upon the travelled Nile,

The desert wind, and dwells the while

Beyond the morning star.

RETURN

Now dusty day returns

Glad of the cool, immaculate inn of night,

Where the sun’s highway’s far from sound and sight,

And quiet starlight bums;

 All haggard thoughts astray,

Having picked up faith’s scattered gold, though blind,

Now sit down weary in the restful mind

Content awhile to stay.

All gentle prayers descend

Auspicious in their quiet ambassadrie,

And mutely happy for the good they see

Sure at the journey’s end.

Life, too, with gleaming eyes,

Hungry because of just a little heaven,

With all her wild denials quite forgiven,

Greatly expectant, dies.

And even the Supreme,

From harvesting a million mellow suns,

Makes one more sabbath for earth’s little ones,

And one more Eden-dream.