To Bow

Read this five times a day
While facing east. 

Midday, sunlight streaming
He’s kneeling, bowing
Reverence breathing.
I don’t know why,
But I hold back tears.
“Despair is a man alone before God.”
In silence, not ashamed, 
His prayers emanate.
His wife waits with perfect grace.
I’m taken by the urge 
To bow before them both
Not for Allah, but for undaunted devotion
In the glaring face of Westernness. 

Memory

You, like little ice picks, haltingly,

Oh my snowy one,

You break into my trajectory

And say, are you reality, or just symphony?

Oh, I don’t know.

 

Blue brittle vicegrips, brokenly

Chip my teeth away

And break them into potpourri

And the scene goes from alchemy into anarchy

Like anything else.

 

But your words play on my heart like piano keys

Left in concert halls,

Eternal unremembered melodies

That you play to me, as your legs move in harmony –

Oh, let me go.

 

And these, needless words made foolhardily

Just for artiface

Conceal the emptiness of memory

Badly made into allegory, or fake history

Oh, it’s enough.