Sunday, September 25, 2016
God is an umbrella above a Muslim beggars head
Hope won't turn hunger into bread
Being a Muslim beggar
Half living half dead .
His dying soul made of lead .
To despair remorse he was wed
A few coins as gratification in
His beggars bowl his cosmic fate
Fled ..once he is dead and gone
On his unmarked grave a patch of a green bed
...grass weeping in the winds
He was a a devout man tears they will
So beware beneath your feet lies dreams
Unfulfilled when hastily you tread ..
A Muslim cemetery invokes you recite a
Fatiah for those ..lying inert stone dead
Poeticizing a street moment that
attracted and repelled ....
words that sought comfort in synchronicity as
They cosmically rebelled ..