“I HAD TO PACK MY THINGS AND GO”. A prodigal child that runs off to a foreign country to squander his father’s wealth. The parable repeats itself.
I am lost.
Be it coin in couch,
or train of camels trailing the sand dunes with nothing but the stars as their compass.
A hajji caravan making pilgrimage. A moon smiling what light
and the cool breeze of wind nibbling at my biscuit skin.
I have crumbled before like-
like the walls of some ancient city being sacked.
The serpent’s attack was simple.
He lay doubt as ambush in my thoughts, he said,
“ What god demands you to kneel before him as a peasant;
Have you not begged countless of times before;
Your prayers aimed towards a corner in the sky or facing the birthplace of his prophet where
sits the Kaaba.
Your soul starves- and yet you still fast the discipline.
You wish speed on those that trespass against your house. It is ransacked with graffiti
and garbage you thought manna. Has not the world been pain enough to leave?
