—by Asnia Asim—

(a ghazal)

In cursive phases of the moon alphabets arose in your name
But liable now Arabic how much here to oppose in your name

The pulse of azan is what I miss and holy water drinking my knees
I lick English daily for a moistened lilt to transpose in your name

Her tongue desires immolation and throbs to kindle your hue
Bedouin bard stringing pearls of couplets to dispose in your name

Vines of arabesque bent to hold the broken fingers of minarets
When bullets slit prayers and left nothing to enclose in your name

Go and tell the last prophet who drew barakah from your wings
My yearning for the disappeared sons that repose in your name

I saw the towers spill, debris calcified my tongue
When they came for me, I had nothing to disclose in your name

Not secrets Asim, personhood is what torture extracts
If only you had something dangerous to expose in your name