One Day

One day

the child of the stars
will grow up
by the water reeds.
He will pour water like light
onto ripening dates.
One day
he will recite
all that he can
from The Painful Verses,
then step away, clothed in the garments of a prophet.
One day
he will wear a mawwal*
and a rhyme
that embody the South,
the messiah and gold.
One day
neither sun nor moon will rise -
only he, who eclipses
the planets and comets.
One day
he will gesture to the wind,
'Take shelter in my hand'.
The vines need no longer fear.
One day
he will run in all directions
heedless of the rain
and its ills.
One day
he will awake to a world
to teach that the dust of the soul
is of gold.
One day
he'll scream in every face: 'I'.
'I am the one whose words enlighten the blind'.
One day
he'll lie down in Gemini
up there in the heavens like a saint.
I say, 'One day' -
but some prophecies are here in my pocket
others are only in books.
A prophecy is like a child:
her doves circle the lamps
that still burn while the exhausted are asleep.
I, my children and my wife -
whom I run to and from in my hour of misery -
We lock the door, then fling it open,
knowing that the door of illusion is made of wood.