Modern Fasting
A poem about the new challenges of fasting Ramadhan
The two by three window frames a dull tableau.
In the bottom half, trunks, needles and cones mingle.
And in the upper, a neon green screen’s where the sky goes.
The first silk thread was pricked from stem to stern
By a skilled spider spanning sky and earth.
Fern leaves uncurl in the pot beneath the frame.
Lord knows. The horridness of going through the motions
Every morning, among people, every evening, makes
Oblivion and death irresistible. Man says :
“Don’t close the loop, just take one day at the time
The way fish and children do, so effortlessly”.
The green screen’s now encrusted with the night
Along which fat white clouds are swimming fast.
The moon’s barely recognizable, a slice of light,
An oil stain on the white cloth. There’s a commotion
Happening in town. Men and women are rushing,
Hoarding lemons, cleaning out their closets and souls.
They affect kindness as the sacred month approaches
At full tilt. Affection comes in and leaks from their tits
Overnight. They greet their guests, ‘thanks for coming’
They say, as they wrap each other in a warm embrace.
A sense of unity swarms across the room
Like on a school bus plunged into the winter darkness
Where only buried heads in knitwear surface.
Men and women gather round a plate of nuts and dates,
Sip on tea, their sedative of choice, while expecting
From the Lord, a sign that announces sustainable
Serotonin levels through the fast. Modern fasting.
