I keep them simple, my
pleasures
Without pretense or
endeavor
I untie my shoe laces
Get rid of my socks
Place my plates on the
gravel
So the Salalah night
breeze
Destresses my nerve
ends.
My employer doesn’t know
I am drinking tea with
thyme
And feeling a drizzle
on my arms
And watching the
low-lying clouds
As they wrap us from
up there
Without fretting for a
second or an hour
About the little
things of the morning hours
The misgivings of the afternoon
And the impatient evening
rush hour.
I feel free not to tip
the waiter
To the tune of 18%
Our eyes meet and we smile.
I holler like crazy
In the din of the
youth throwing dice
And ordering chicken
masala,
Cream with saffron and
mango juice
The city lights
flicker in the misty evening
And the evening lingers
And dabbles with the
drizzle
And the drizzle
dabbles with my tea
And thyme grows in my
backyard
And baby mangoes
sprout all around
And their roots curl
up
To drink straight from
the skies.
Ali H. Raddaoui
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