My Apologies

My apologies, my honoured guests,
The newsreader lied in his last bulletin:
There is no sea in Baghdad
Nor pearls
Not even an island,
And everything Sinbad said
About the queens of the jinn
About the ruby and coral islands
About the thousand thousands flowing from the sultan’s hand
Is a myth born in the summer heat
Of my small town
In the burnt-up shadows of the midday sun
In the silent nights of the exiled stars.
We used to have
A sea, shells, pearls
And a polished moon
And fishermen returning in the evening;
We used to have,
Said the newsreader’s last bulletin,
An innocent, dream paradise;
For we, my honoured guests,
Lie to be born again,
Lie to stretch in our long history
The myth told by Sinbad –
We used to have
A sea, shells, pearls
And the hour of birth.

My apologies, my honoured guests,
The newsreader lied in his last bulletin:
There is no sea in Baghdad
Nor pearls
Not even an island.