25/01/2016

#poem #poetry #amwriting the muslims tale i

in the time of our grandfathers
high in the hills beyond the clouds
the air so pure no trumpet sounds
deceiving whispers found no ear

this house co-eternal like the book
played host to ghengis who drew near
tamerlane piled no skulls for fear
of the bees of heaven living here

and the old man of the mountain
wise beyond the imams of baghdad
each stone he knew as a father
so old he marched with alexander

he it was that harvested the honey
in each hive a copy of the koran
the queen hafiz proficient learned
recites the verses new moon reborn

for here so high the spring blossom
must flower through the winter snow
and here alone but a single peach tree
marks calender of seasons flow

in the valley deep beyond and down
passing like rain - the lives of men
puddled rich in noble struggle strained
or drained out in wasteful joys haram

and so ibn koinos lived to watch the sun
on honey and peaches fowl and fish
sometimes from the valley would come
a visitor - with a lamb - seeking exegesis

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