Muslim boy
Boy waits until the dinner lady
puts fresh sponge cakes out for dessert
it’s time
Boy finds a prayer mat
“Where is Mecca?”
Exactly where it was yesterday
just a few degrees past SE
between the window and the radiator
Boy has exactly six minutes until
he’s caught again.
Boy holds his stomach
after scoring twice as many as his friends
“you don’t have to fast, you know?”
Boy still nutmegs his friends without thinking
Boy still completes equations in record time
the bell rings
“not even water?”
not even water.
He has exactly four more hours to go
until samosas introduce Maghrib
Man grows his beard because it masks
his double chin and complements his
complexion
brown people grow very luscious beards
but not like the Scandinavians
the handsome non-terrorist rugged look
it’s-safe-to-look-inside-my-rucksack look
the non-is-he-practicing-I’ve-seen-him-pray look
He has exactly two more centimeters left
before he catches glares at work again
Man waits until his colleagues have left
it was time for Dhuhr three hours ago
it’s dark now but better safe than sorry
at least his assignments were handed in on time
he wonders if prayer is like an assignment
he wonders what it would be like to hear the call
to pray, to follow worshippers into Mosques
“I’ll be out shortly, go ahead, I’ll follow you”
He has exactly ten minutes before
anybody pays attention
Chest-beating
‘Expression of grief with thumping of the chest by Shia Muslims is known as Latmya’
they mock our primitive beliefs
of how men can soften their hearts
by beating their chest in grief
each thump an apology transcending time
a reminder of how men can quickly
descend to greed
how heads can find themselves on lances
saints raised to the sun, broken lilies
they ridicule our eyes for crumbling
over deaths long gone
but we’ve done this for centuries
like alchemists of sadness
our tears have raised cities
and golden minarets all
transmutations of earth bloodied
they rip our clothes to red when
we choose to dress in black
and drag fathers from their homes
until they are carcasses for ravenous eyes
‘Shia Kafir’ like witch hunts in search of
those who love
Suwayq
This town’s symbol is a camel, as the people here are known for their loyal relationship with the desert transporter. We have always been Bedouins – no that’s untrue – we are Adnanite settlers, descendants of Ishmael, our rightful home I suppose would be between Safa and Marwa, where Hajar ran her heels into the ground until water sprung. Was the miracle the water or the lineage that trickled forth?
This close affinity to motherhood might be the reason why this town is kind towards its camels or why there is a constellation my forebears named The Protecting Mother Camel, maybe I’m overthinking.
My great-grandfather was supposedly a simple man but even simple men can be shaken awake by dreams, explained only as morsels from the future. He stumbled across bits and pieces of it, fixated on a star like a sailor drunk on fate, until it took him away from Suwayq,
And now here I am in Bedfordshire writing about how a son can find meaning in an old town symbol.
