For Dear Yahya;

Salma vs. Salome

Hide your head inside my breast

forget her plot and sleep in rest.

She's paid her dance to scent your head,

which you won't let till you are dead.

But how a devil who's been disgraced

would spare the heaven that she can't taste?

O dear Yahya if I'd just been there

no lewd hand could've touche' your hair.

Lay now your head inside my arms

the worst has gone, there is no harm

O sweet Yahya how man you are!

Your sublime scent still charms by far.

Someday, indeed, when both we meet,

I'll dance for you till make you pleased.

Salma

23/01/2007