Dreams of dispossession

In my dreams,

sandwiched between forbidden loves

And incestuous wars,

I dream of dispossession

Of cold posters plastered over my home,

Declaring me a fugitive of exile,

Of rusted rifles guarding empty hearths

waiting for new occupants,

who arrive in shuttered buses

holding papers

dipped in

cold black ink
confirming peace

Of the old occupants,

all that remains are old books and

memories razed and blotted by pressed blood

In time, I will be an Iberian Jew

Cast-out and doomed to roam

The earth, till one day when I

Too shall cut open the last stitches holding

Me together and drive others to exile

They say when Azra’il comes

For the sinner’s soul, he rips it apart

Like Muslin drawn through a rose-thorn bush

Let me bargain with death tonight

And desecrate its oblivion

To conjure a map of home

From the memories of my ancestors

From my grandfather, who died too young

From his father, who sits turbaned in the family album

From his father who lived at the bottom of a hill

All the way before nine syllables were spoken

And gods were found in polished stones

I have always been envious of people

Who can commit to being inked

Even when it is misspelt Chinese alphabets

Or barely understood Latin phrases

People who can commit to other languages

They barely speak or understand

Offering strangers glimpses into their souls,

The spaces between their bare pentagrams,

summoning non-existent demons,

to exorcise old wounds through the

Tyranny of ink

I try escaping from the dream

And she pins it down its hem

Under her stilettoes

As it unfurls in front of me

Like a winter morning fog over the Dal

Comments

For posterity

--- The following is for public record for posterity and history Let them know you were here etch your names on these walls Die in the name of revolution, Industrial, or Agricultural, Political or, Sexual, Just find a cause Don't decline this invitation to your private doom, It is a limited-time offer, For all sales must end What utter madness is this? Why are you running away from this? On what list is your name on? Who did you meet? What did you talk about? Was it about me? Am I sounding too paranoid? A little insane Ignore the glint in my eye, I take no pleasure in this All I say is accept this love After all, whose love isn't a little tainted? Whose name, a little tarnished? Spill out your silences now, I have shown enough love Others here are much worse, Brotherhood and fealty mean nothing here I am here as your fri...

Zulaikha’s Lament

Blotted and Stained Like blood on apples, My reputation remains in tatters After these years But what was a woman to do? -- He had the face of An angel His shoulders, A sculptors dream His eyes, spoke a million languages his lips, like daggers driven apart -- I grew outside of Cairo Unloving father and sad mother Sold me for a goat and A bag of gold To the first merchant who They came across -- My Husband, Kind, Generous man Made me his wife And put me along with Thirteen others -- My Husband, Kind Generous man Kept me happy Visited me twice a month Blessing me with His drunken kisses and Impotent rage -- I was never sad What more could A woman want? Lots of wealth and An impotent husband Sex was a chore The price of being so glad -- Then he came Chained and covered with dust Another man from the Slave traders den He stood at the gate Neither sad nor in jest Even at a distance...

Indigo Halls of Imagined Gods

In the indigo halls of Imagined Gods of Love, Lovers leave half burnt letters of incense and trails of broken hearts - Among ruins of shattered Love knots, she sits alone Weaving a rosary out of Thin air With longing as its thread and Beads made out of tears -- In the Indigo halls of Imagined gods of Love, The walls conspire and whisper Into her ears Telling tales of unfaithful loves And unrequited desires -- The rags of threads once Tied at the Astans of Hamdan, Lie at her feet, as she sits alone Knitting desolation from the whispers To sacrifice at the altars of the imagined Gods of love

Tasenda

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