I Did Not Love Her

I did not love her.
I only loved the way the night flowed from her head.
Her hair was a path that led to no home,
And it was enough for me to walk it—
Never arriving.

I never heard her voice.
I was too busy counting strands of seduction,
Silencing words
So they wouldn’t interrupt the noise of magic.

She laughed—
And I didn’t notice.
She was sad—
And I wasn’t moved.
She was human—
But I loved only her shadow,
Not her presence.

Each time she spoke,
I wished the wind would hush.
Each time she came closer,
I feared her hair would melt under the light,
And a plain face would appear—
Like mine.

How long the hair was!
And how short the insight.

When she cut her hair,
She died.
No, not her—
I’m the one who vanished.
I searched for her strands on the pillows,
On the comb,
In memory…
But I found nothing,
Because all I remembered was the length and the shine.

Now, I stand at the door of my mirror,
Staring at a face that once loved a woman he never knew,
And I say:
What a love that was…
Not blind—
But it saw a single strand
And mistook it for a body, a soul, a depth.

What is beauty?
Is it what glitters first,
Or what remains when the light fades?
I used to think the eye was a mirror of the heart,
Only to discover it was a curtain.
I loved the hair because it asked for nothing.
It didn’t argue, didn’t speak, didn’t change.

But love doesn’t live in silence,
Nor grow on smooth surfaces.
It is a pit—
You either fall into it, or survive.

Now,
Each time I see a woman with long hair,
I lower my eyes.
Not out of fear of temptation,
But in sorrow for my former self,
Who thought love was a strand,
Not a human.

Sharjah – 1 January 2007