Mother, they have come to tear my flesh
and weld it to the city walls. The mangonels
have rocked my base and seared the sanctuary
with their fires. Until all collapsed,
yet I restored the stones, placed
the Hijr of Ismail inside the Kaaba
to make it whole. Am I the end
of Saqifat Bani Saad, the Shurah Pledge?

Dead cattle do not feel the skinner's knife
and I will grind my teeth to powder,
bear the stretch and fray of nerves
before the mallet's blow. Withstand
the splinter of ganglions in my sinews
and forbid my sweat to temper
the blood, that seeps across the nails,
hammered through each hand.

Am I the end of Saqifat Bani Saad?
I'll save my breath for one more prayer,
yet even as I exhale, Hajaj has brought his axe
and forced the Hijr outside the House.
From King's son to King's son!
Where are the people's voices,
where is the Shurah Pledge?
The Kaaba crumbles! Cement its crippled walls,
secure the Hijr of Ismail,
bring back the Pledge!

• Currently 0.00/5 Stars

Leave Comment/Rate Poem	View Comments (0)	Share This Poem
View Reviewer Scores	Add to My Favorites	Print Poem

Bookmark with: Del.ici.ous    Digg    Facebook    reddit    StumbleUpon