ANN’S SONG
Ann was ripe on the branch like a quince
She caused quite a stir in our neighborhood,
The boys of that time even I would mince
Each with a hole in his heart since boyhood…
And when she was ripe as a bunch of grapes,
In the street we set our eyes on her breast,
With many an ember, she filled the men’s beds,
And the women’s with leeches at best.
Ann changed the seasons by shortening her dress
She made you shiver under the July’s vault.
The boys, like Mohammad in fasting, obsessed
And men scolded women…”the dish had no salt!”
As the wind slipped beneath Ann’s thighs
Behind her, the wet grass burned on the spot,
When her eyes caught you, ‘twas like the snake bites,
So death is honey-sweet as from a shot,
Ann conquered the sleep, the sleep went away,
Her shoulders and eyelashes thinned the air,
The elders changed waters, a spring every day
And all boys became asthmatic everywhere.
Ann was as ripe as a pomegranate or a quince.
She caused quite a stir in our neighborhood,
The boys of that time, even I would mince.
Each with a hole in his heart since boyhood.
