The Way to Medina

No!

Not the so-called ulema,

But the bards of Muhammad

Are

My way to Medina.

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To Aeschylus’ Oresteia

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

You Ask Me Why Do I Read

When a child is in the womb,

Nobody asks

Why is it there.

It simply has to be there,

In order to be.

For me,

Book is the womb

And I, the fetus,

Who lives on the ink

Of Mother Book.

Reading,  you see,

Is a matter of being for me.

A Mother and a Grandson

Mary! Mother of Jesus

I am your slave.

Hussain! Grandson of Muhammad

You are my master.