Hussain October 13

Adeeba Talukder : A Poem on Yazid

Time is a curve

of loss, rind

pressed against rind,

skin against skin,

until the solid

fruit lies weak,

shapeless.

 

But watch

the syrup as it falls

into the cup, glistening

and whole.

 

Life, in the end,

could not mold him

in the way of sap:

 

He lay, thick,

sagging with wine,

slumping

as he lost again

and again. He festered,

found he could not

hold himself

up by his own

substance.

 

Those days as the horses

screamed and the dust

blew up in clouds,

he sat and played

and did not watch.

 

He didn’t look

into the eyes of children

gasping in thirst. He turned away

 

from the blood,

the wailing,

the breaking.

 

He did not watch the flag

or the pillar collapse,

or the night as it fell–

 

the night as it fell

like a sigh, fell

like a sword

upon the neck of Hussain.

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