#poem #poetry #amwriting the muslim's tale x

at last the gates of ibn koinos came
a mirage to his laboured sin
and there before those golden gates
hunched and hooded sat the crone

at his gaolers whithered feet sat
a basket covered by a silken cloth
patterned dripped with blood spat
in match of those upon his cheek

the sultan lies within she said
as the magic fell out from the lamb
released - ali fell unto the ground
there wept the tears of the damned

once more into a pillar of smoke
and out the range of throttling fist
pulling the silken cloth aside
ali saw he could not now know bliss

for there - smiling - was a child's head
upon a swastika of hands and feet
looking to the carcass on the grass
ali saw it came from wife not sheep

slowly opened the childish eyen
the lips bereft of throat to voice
mouthed to the one god of heaven
immature hope of intercession

ali shushed the livid lips be still
gathered all unto the basket
took the whole through the gates
to the father - and proper casket