Thursday, May 2, 2013

Boston ii

     As if bodies were the soul's ornaments,
     A mullah turned the Koran's carpet page.
     Old Babur made a couplet instead - of Age
     and Youth, his 'throneless days,' their violence.

     The opium pearl, to ease him out of life,
     Made a garden of pain. The rugs, the tent
     Dissolved. A flower still appeared. He went
     On rearranging the couplet and devised,

     To keep death at bay, five hundred and four
     Versions. His first poem had been to a boy
     From the bazaar whom for a day he had adored,

     Whose glances he could still see in the dark
     That lined the geometric border's void,
     Reproduced in glistening egg-and-dart.


     Each grain of sand
     Takes an eternity to articulate
     History's figure of speech for randomness.

J.D. McClatchy
The Rest of the Way
  Kilim [fragments]
op. cit.

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