Dream 1 On nights of torment and sorrow its waters saturate the pillow and it comes like the smell of moss with green steps to touch my right palm with a jasmine sprig: Wake up... I am the river... Don't you love me? Don't you want to reach Basra on the wings of the pillow? River, I'm awake, awake. "On my pillow a drop that tastes like moss..." It's Basra. *** Dream 2 Skies shade me. Low skies shade me and the sparrows, and my grandfather holds my hand, his face shaded with a red kaffiyeh. In the distance the waters shine and my grandfather holds my hand: Let's go faster before the birds leave. Let's go faster before tide robs our nets... On the grass, fish drip from our nets. In river fog they appear like green ships, like red ships, like blue ships that sailed before the water rose. *** Dream 3 On the shores of Kout Al-Zain dawn was tumbling down. he date palms wore purple plumes and in my hair there were stars, warmth, and rain. I was swimming toward the other bank, swimming to reach Ahwaz. And in Ahwaz dawn was tumbling down and the date palms wore purple plumes and the water in Karoun tasted just like the water in Basra. *** Sidi Belabas, 4/5/1969 * * * translated by Khaled Mattawa