Welcome, My Woman, Welcome!
Welcome, my woman, welcome!
You must be weary,
but I have no rosewater
to wash your feet,
no silver basin.
You must be thirsty,
but I have no cool sherbet.
You must be hungry,
but I cannot lay a feast before you
on a white linen cloth.
My room is poor—
like a land in chains.
Welcome, my woman, welcome!
Step into my room,
its forty-year-old concrete
has turned to meadow.
You smiled—
roses bloomed
on the iron bars
of my window.
You wept—
good palms filled
with pearls.
My room became rich,
like my soul,
bright
like freedom.
Welcome, woman, welcome!
