under the susurrus on tin plated sheets
i stand listening
to the southwesterly winds
howling hymns to the land of the beloved
to the splashes of sleazy raindrops echo
from the inner chambers of the prayer hall
to the still water in the cisterns disturbed
by hands being cleansed for ritual

banana leafs careen laden with ripe fruits
golden with delight at the beloved’s imminent arrival
cocks prick around thirsty
unquenched by the day’s drizzle
the petrichor reminds me of untouched skin
waiting to be rubbed with sin

the scent of god breathes through
his pir-o-mones
rosy round kashmiri cheeks
redolent of their own apples
supple
slender
sexy
like a
serpent

under the dome of illumination
brightest chandelier of hope you are
the blazing sword of ‘Alif pincers my heart
yet it is condensed with coolness
from the icy crypts that are
your hauntingly beautiful cold eyes
that commands the fire within
to be a breezy peaceful retreat

eyes of a philosopher
filled with fecund profound
possibilities
bedazzling the blandness
in my heart

draped in a friday prayer gown
telling the beads on my rosary
leaning on a pillar in the veranda
i look out onto the road

his motorcycle rumbles on the highway
puffing smoke ferociously
just like him on his jazz & joint nights
his voice intoxicates me
but i can’t hear what he preaches
but he’s my prophet on the pulpit

alas! but a juggernaut hits him
and his body tumbles
down, making my heart leap

my legs carry me to his bloodied head
glistening gushes of velvet red
stream from his conscious
he proclaims with the last puff of his breath
the antithesis of his faith
“there is no God”

“but God” i whisper to his ear
gently closing those eyelids
and kissing them
before i kissed those tender lips
not only the thirsty seek water
the water as well seeks the thirsty