The sound of falling rain had me realize right then that I hadn’t heard rain in awhile; I listened, made a cup of tea, tapped away the steeped leaves on the wide flat spoon that had been gathered from the teapot afterwards, as the tea bell sounded a second, and it was ready. I took my sips with music to hear, happy I had finally discovered what a tea towel is having suddenly found a good purpose for it, the sky and clouds blending plum and rose.
And now, a poem from Flowers of a Dream (1911)
This is a short excerpt of a poem I was in the process of fully translating:
by May Ziadeh
Yes there, in the shadows and silence, Listen to a sad and sweet song… You don’t want me here? Heaven! Why this sudden wrath? Oh! by your heavy blond locks, Your prunes that make you die (My sweet!) where worlds sparkle Love! By your eyes, my pleasure! By your lips, I beseech you! Your lips full of pleasure, And by your sound and pure voice, Answer: Did I not sing well? Then why this anger What about the disappearance? Would you be spoiled, my dear, Or is it just a thrill? Mimi, come back to your window And stand under the white curtains; By your grace, deign to appear And inspire me with your sweet accents! The shadow is so dark and you listen to me, Blonde woman, but what! Would you love me? Steal from my breast these doubts: Belle, speak! I’ve been quiet.