I wear no amour, I carry no sword,
as I make my way down Andalusia
through centuries of tears.
Nowhere to camp beneath the sky.
The magic and mystery of a journey
lasting eight hundred years.
I may, who knows, flower some day
at daybreak. Now I trek through a dark
where thorns and weeds prevail.
[Translated by Muhammad Salim-ur-rahman]
Muhammad Izhar ul Haq
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cordova/
