Reads: 89  | Likes: 5  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 23, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 23, 2018





I stand beside my window

waiting for the call to prayer,

waiting like a lover

for a glimpse of the beloved

against a sky dark as plum skin

dark as the center of an unsplit fruit.

I search the empty streets

where only cats

and the shadows of cats

prowl on padded feet.

The stars have gone some other place

and he has not come.


And then a thread of honey,

a shaft of light from the throat of a man

unrolls in script above the rooftops

and my soul expands.

They say people sometimes fall in love

with the mu'addhin

who sings most beautifully.

First one and then a second

now vie for my devotion,

voices from two quarters of the city

sweep over and under

the silent longing in me, a chord

drawing me beyond my sill, my street,

beyond the dream dust on my pillow.

Awake my heart,

and love what is:

the god of alley cats and damp stones,

the god of dawn, the god of men who sing.

Prayer is better than sleep.

© Copyright 2019 E. D. Watson. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: