Since…
By Akbar Ahmed
I have not slept blackness
and slipped
the nightly
nocturnal sublimation
I dangle,
comes the
suffocating successions of dark,
a silver coin on a silver string
revolving in sentience
over and over
the same, set orbit.
Last night I dreamt:
I, a female-ant
smug
on an endless beach
of brown sugar;
I knew the joy of the
columned sea
the strength of
sparkling solitude.
Then came the great
soughing
of great wings:
giant vultures
outstretched on the falling horizon.
Carnivorous claws reeked in grasp.
As they flapped in
I saw their faces
with rat-like horror:
they were those of my friends
and brothers.
I knew then
forever
I had slipped
blackness.
(Akbar Ahmed is an author, poet, playwright, filmmaker and former diplomat. He currently holds the Ibn Khaldun Chair of Islamic Studies and is Professor of International Relations at the American University in Washington, DC)
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