A ghost (Else Lasker-Schüler tribute poem)

Who is the gaunt figure in oriental garb
haunting the streets of Berlin
oblivious to the grey concrete?

It is Prince Yussuf
who walks under the shattered moon
homesick
longing for his fathers' temples
for golden sand beneath his feet
the rishrushing waves of the red sea
and his honey mother tongue

He has always been a wanderer
roaming the world on a Tibetan rug
and a seeker for the magic city
guarded by an angel
whose broken wing
had been bestowed on him

All his life he stood
in a starcloak and golden shoes
shaking his fist
at a god
who had died
waiting for the last man
to pour the world away

Oh, Yussuf, my friend
is the soil of Jerusalem
too dark and damp
to let you rest?