Shadab Zeest Hashmi
To Lorca
Qasida of the Cherry Balloon
The postman rang twice, then came the letter
clenched between the teeth of the kit fox from
the Mojave of pale winds, thorny veils,
impaled clocks. Dear beloved in the blue
suit, it said, if you’re alone, set your watch
ahead, wait for the stars to lavish the
blank, the diurnal starvation of signs—
for canopies to pull down behind the dead
quince tree. Wait here, arms open wide, cherry-
innocent, for what seeks you is floating down.
Qasida of Alhamra in moonlight
In dappled green and saffron tessellation,
lotus, lily and Spanish lavender,
calligraphy of cradles with names of
the beloved passed on from heart to stone—
there are mirrored sighs falling like Sierra
flurries on the poet. Your home is
named after a crowned fruit, your heart’s
jewel is sharp, your death is your century’s
desire to lie in a white handkerchief.
Qasida of Arriving
In the jolt of the train, a severance—
dream spiraling away from the sleeper,
hour announced on the loud speaker, off
by eight hundred years, hangs in earlobes
carrying damascene blossoms, lute-songs
churning like sweet butter: a lyric attack,
reader on poet. Hand your pen back to
the golden goose of lost time. Soon you will
dip your hands in the river that turns to
rose water, a manuscript of perfume.
Qasida of the Cherry Balloon
The postman rang twice, then came the letter
clenched between the teeth of the kit fox from
the Mojave of pale winds, thorny veils,
impaled clocks. Dear beloved in the blue
suit, it said, if you’re alone, set your watch
ahead, wait for the stars to lavish the
blank, the diurnal starvation of signs—
for canopies to pull down behind the dead
quince tree. Wait here, arms open wide, cherry-
innocent, for what seeks you is floating down.
Qasida of Alhamra in moonlight
In dappled green and saffron tessellation,
lotus, lily and Spanish lavender,
calligraphy of cradles with names of
the beloved passed on from heart to stone—
there are mirrored sighs falling like Sierra
flurries on the poet. Your home is
named after a crowned fruit, your heart’s
jewel is sharp, your death is your century’s
desire to lie in a white handkerchief.
Qasida of Arriving
In the jolt of the train, a severance—
dream spiraling away from the sleeper,
hour announced on the loud speaker, off
by eight hundred years, hangs in earlobes
carrying damascene blossoms, lute-songs
churning like sweet butter: a lyric attack,
reader on poet. Hand your pen back to
the golden goose of lost time. Soon you will
dip your hands in the river that turns to
rose water, a manuscript of perfume.
Granada, August 16, 1936: The Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca was arrested by Nationalist forces and shot to death.
His body was never found.
His body was never found.
Shadab Zeest Hashmi is the winner of the San Diego Book Award, Sable’s Hybrid Book Prize, the Nazim Hikmet Poetry Prize and multiple Pushcart nominations. Her books include Baker of Tarifa, Kohl and Chalk, Ghazal Cosmopolitan and the lyric memoir Comb. Her work has been translated into Spanish, Turkish and Urdu, and has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mudlark, The Cortland Review, Poetry International, Vallum, Poem, The Adirondack Review, Spillway, Atlanta Review, World Literature Today, Wasafiri and other journals worldwide.
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