Hakimuddin Radhanpurwala Week #9 - For Every Murdered Star

Faqqua Iris

For Every Murdered Star

Nana held me by my hand,

When our smiles had grown so faint.

We sat upon a promontory—

With our backs against an Olive bark that beared our pain.

We found solace breathing flowers,

That chirped across the river to the sea,

But when my Nana died, 

The flowers drowned and turned to weeds!

So I picked them in a basket and hailed them to the sky

And a greater power had stolen them.

Now I see a blue, white, and green, that always cry, 

Bleeding in a dark, shining now so bright.

I can still smell the stars

A million miles away

But never far

Dear God, what words do you still have?

Is beauty within our proportions?

Or are we the handsome and damned?

You mock our queries; Oh Powerful One

But we see the world you’ve sown

Your word deceives us

We’d rather you leave us alone…

Dear God, have you seen my flower?

Growing on an Olive tree masked in a menorah’s facade

I heard she caught the east winds of Gaza

And swayed in the breeze with her father

Two lost petals bombarded into martyrs

Why did you bring Hitler back from the dead?

Now a star-spangled swastika hangs on Palestinian heads

They have no portraits here

So I’ll paint them in the sky

Faqqua Iris shining now so bright

A Guilty fragrance— 

Once claimed as mine

Dear God, we heard silver screams and gold slaps

Unhinged dogs barking at old cats

Now the screams have ceased

Galaxies of bloody whiskers howling at your feet:

“What is your name Oh Ar-Rahman?

You’ll smile at their wounds and name their pain “peace”

Dear God, why do you cry at these beautiful souls?

Are the heavens still empty?

Have the flowers turned cold?

Can you hear the gold chime?

Does the silver still flow?

How many more nomads till you know what I know?

They’ve turned my world grey

And my hymns to woes

Oh tell me a time when the fires will close

So the stars in the sky can all taste their homes

Dear God, Once we once sat upon a promontory

Our backs against a fragile bark

Fishing bodies off the Great Sea

We caught em dead smiling in your hands—angelic sardines

They’ll remind you of me

Dear God, Where are you?

I’ve come to set you free

Oh if only they knew

How I searched the river to the sea

And found you hanging by the gallows 

Made of our Olive tree