once upon a time…

had you come
but yesterday
you would have seen
a golden sunrise
fragrant with orange blossoms
and
seen the morning light
reflect on our minaret
as clouds caressed
the morning sun
you would have heard
the laughter of children
playing games in the street
games as old as time itself
heard the cautions
call out by parents
about
the dangers
of such rough play
knowing
they would be ignored
just
as they had done
when they were young
but love
repeats itself
as does
the call to prayer
prayers
for peace
had you come
but
yesterday

azan…

body cold
skin dried
in the desert sun
no voice
to cry out
from
my minaret
here
amongst the mountains
we have
no recorded calls
to prayer
just this old soul
of mine
now
emptied
of allah’s breath
one day soon
the children
will return
from the border
and ask
why is there
no call to prayer today
someone
will wander
up the steps
and
find my hand tight
about the rail
as if holding
allah’s hand
and then
they will understand
god does not move
from his home
because of war
but
holds tight
to love
throughout
man’s night

be not silent to me…

 

the tank
heavily plated
with the steel of hate
crossed the border of reason
shredding the fields
of hope beneath
its tracks
moving like an old ship
burdened with an albatross
around its mast
sailing
to a minaret
pushing the walls
of the tower
into the ground
to bury the sounds of prayers
but come the dawn
they hear the call
the sound
caught upon the wind
could have so easily
been mistaken
for the sounds
of falling leaves
but slowly
it grew louder
a chant
a demand
that peace
be now
without delay
and then
the silence
of despair