To Ibn Rushd (Averroës)
Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto
A glass of wine from pitcher’s pouring of past centuries
stored in your residence.
I was visiting, you allowed me to drink it
I gulped it in the long silence
tinkling coursed through the throat.
My soul freshened with clear view not vague,
seethed into the stomach of longing.
My scope asked: what you performed?
He said: it’s the juice of the hands of orphans,
he gave it to me when wandered, dropping by here.
My chest suddenly shaken increased pulsation,
before kept asking, you vanished from my front.