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Martyrdom


I heard eighteen voices bouncing
Upon eighteen fire-soaked minarets
The noose of childhood tortures through
The pain of sex or love unlearned

Where once the leaves of Alexandria,
Or the sand-whipped songs of a muezzin
Had caroused their dream-fuelled aura
Of virgins, edens, even many Palestines

Now lived and breathed a different love
One of other worlds, of betterment
And martyrdom, of the clasp of Allah
Embracing the hearts of the wise

I saw the faith fly by on eight wings
Flashing nothing tasting like a prayer
Only five thousand doves followed there
Each with a tear as white as clouds

Each with a heart that would never again
Beat or breath, touch or impound.
Those doves I saw for the last time
Swinging their feathers in the sun


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001