If ever you were to see a shaylah smile
there, near where rimmed black eyes shine darkly,
there, near where laughing pools sparkle
with the cool light of Hejaz dawn
across the smooth hejab;
if ever you were there, Giorgio Armani
might, just might, crease, in sheer, black humour.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Nigel Holt would be pleased to hear from you.