Nahhaam

Where I was born, I know; Allah Aa’lim,
when. I remember all there was, was pearls:
three months at sea; a bed on shells, and oakum
the Sayb ravelled on the deck in curls.
From after Fajr until the Maghrib’s throes
we dived—dates and coffee all we had.
With weights on the feet, fataam on the nose,
a diyyin round the neck brought from Baghdad
for the shells; we dived ten yards before we rose.

At night I sang, or when the breeze had died;
I sang the pearls out of the evening’s dark,
waiting for the moment when the sirdal cried;
then flags would rise and we could journey back;
It felt like ’Eid! At last to disembark
with sugar, rice and tea in every sack!