For they’ve lost their guardianship,
Swords of star-like crescents
To the comforting motherly hands,
and pampered palace palm.
A soldier stood at the South gate,
Wailing to a rooted wind,
A casual sway,
Berthing in turquoise Sea,
Sing-song a melody of Ramadan,
Herd Jannatul Naeem into
A marauding pellet of Masjid.
In the Western Ward
A giant heating ray of the hurty sun
Born a healthier hearthstone
In a gerrymandering heart;
Lubricating an engine of faith
into a brighter fate.
In the Northern Neighborhood,
A bull voice bulldozing
Throughout a path of patience,
Felling trees of Faith along its way,
Smearing it walls with sainthood,
Florals in florescent plaited walls
In a harmattan party.
Now, all roads lead to Eastlinton,
A prayer party,
Burning in believer’s larynx
Waxing their toils
contained in undiluted pinnacles of desires.
Recoiling soulless sins to their origins,
Whiles, I freed greed from bondage
I know a man in the gardens of Eden
Uh ho, he didn’t cry, he sobbed.
Yet it’s all the same,
A beautiful woven minaret has fallen
caught in the agony of a pandemic,
Minarets, inviting the aged,
and the youth, the young and children
to its emblem of piety,
Recleansing burdened hearts.
Minds congested in worldly matters,
Has indeed laid silent, muted
Oh! What a world? A period! A time!
When the human Naeemas
Folded their sleeves,
than a rocking Monkey.
A sombering moment
for the Mukaraboons,
Oo hail the detractors’ kitabs!!!
A reflective period for the Munafiquuns.
How do we tap the shine of the Saabiquuns
Drumming an encapsulated sheaths
And so does the sleeping minarets
Wielding their star-crescent,
bulldozing through covid19 era,
The four minarets?
None could speak those panting words
Connecting night’s knights
of prayer warriors
In their wavy armor,
shinning the bright light of the moon,
In their bent posture.
Whip along ascending skies,
Pulling up numbers from all corners
Under its merciful umbrella,
‘Harry to success.’
For it has lost its power to the clawing fangs
Of a pandemic, called Covid19,
Tearing its beauty into tills of agrarian beds.
yet no life.