Sol 5.6

  1. Pole-star of ships, qibla of every helmsman,

    if only your light might illumine my heart—

  2. your lighthouse casts its radiance as though it were

    sleeplessness turning the eyes of a lovesick man.

  3. Across the mighty sea, paths cast by its flashes

    travel by night, bewildered and unrestrained,

  4. like the courses of thoughts through abyss upon

    abyss of doubts and sorrows.

  5. They vanish and appear; yet there within their darkness lies

    the gate of deliverance, the bewildered wanderer’s refuge.

  6. At evening, the ships’ eyes are all turned

    toward you from across the seas, gazing fixedly.

  7. Like the Sacred House, it gathers, after distance has scattered them,

    the whole company of loved ones and brethren within it.

  8. A Mount Judi for every ship that was not built

    by Noah and never cleaved the Flood.

  9. There land and sea have met and become level—

    East and West, though they are not alike.

  10. She spreads her arms, bidding farewell to one departing

    from her and welcoming the guest who draws near.

  11. Companies converge for parting: one bound

    for home, another an exile far from the homelands.

  12. Bodies side by side, their longings far apart,

    differing in accents and complexions.

  13. Look upon those faces, for they are

    diverse homelands gathered here where I stand.

  14. In a harbor, falling short of her deck,

    a proud, pitch-dark wave—never flagging.

  15. A wave circles her, though sleep has overcome her—

    circling her like a ravenous lion.

  16. The ships have cast their anchors beside her

    and taken shelter from it in a haven of safety.

  17. It is as though her lighthouse’s glow were hospitality’s fire—

    if the dead among fires could be revived.

Sol 5.6