Traveller From Afar Poem by Bernard Kennedy

I met a traveller from an antique land,
and saw beneath that turbaned head
not a visitor but brother too,
though lineage was but black and white.

What was far away, and camels feet away,
and ships sails away, pirated too away.
Yet walking on my street his street,
and close to his ribs held his Dublin love,
close to his ribs.
As if God's hand had knit the joints of Adam's
bone and joined again in one.
They laughed and laughed their happiness,
and smiled and kissed this darkened brow,
this blackened brow,
as mahogany is dark.
And it was love.

They held each close, and matching hair
to skin a foreign shining joy,
and Oh! I thought how near they were
to fields that once were far.
And also thought how blood might fight
the love from Dublin's laughing street.

And how religion too might stop
in God's own secret talk this love.
Although the Magi far had come
from foreign antique lands
And darkened skin was Melchior
and darkened too that world.
Yet in that dark the star did shine
and laughter shone their too.

I watched them sweep in through the door
and sit and ice cream share,
and short of coins, their love did rest
upon one spoon of love.
And kiss black lips,
and brightened eyes
this foreign vision here.