Ramadan in shades of spring
بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ
This year, May,
your secret name is holy month,
the fragrance of your nearness intoxicates me,
your whisper is women, their devotion
in the courtyard of humid night
and jasmine.
The roots of my hair cry out for your orange blossom
your adhan at Maghrib is an ecstasy of home,
of birds returning to their nests
your sky is the colour of 'Chaouen and I weep to be lost in her streets again.
'Chaouen: your mountain watching over you
the way my grandparents stand at the door
miming embrace.
'Chaouen, you Pilgrim's Progress, you respite for Lovers.
I am in the first element of womb, everything blazes:
your brightness aches the way love does.
I flow to you, inside out,
you bathe me in blue and gold, palm to chest.
Then you hang me out on the line
in my grandmother's garden
by the bird bath.
*'Chaouen is an abbreviation for Chefchaouen, the bustling blue city in the North of Morocco, traditionally a port of rest for Sufi pilgrims before continuing their journey into the mountains.