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Ala-Udeen & The Magic Lamp
Ala-udeen, as his name goes, woke up with a bang and threw off his bedclothes, rubbed his eyes, then jumped out of bed, put…
Job sits in his chair of molten lead
Walks on a beach of burning sand
speaks words that blister the air
sings a soft song that his
heart can hear
Finds his closest companion just
a jugular vein away
Holds onto that conversation as its
whirlwind hurls its lights
through the entire rattletrap cosmos
returning again as earth-shattering music
whose gong is himself
going over Niagara in the
barrel of his ribcage
holding on as it crashes through the
waves in spattering sprays of
silver and gold sparks
against a flashing blue sky that flies from
Hell to Paradise in a single arc
on which Job rides as if on a stallion
loosed from its pen its tail aflame
with everything in the world he’s
known and loved
whipping the air itself into
screens of fire
onto which his whole life plays
from moment to moment from his first birth
to the time he now finds himself in
aswelter in pure being
facing God’s Face like breath
blown on a windowpane
clearing to a transparency
where Job and windowpane both
vanish completely away
and only God stays
6/2/12 (from Down at the Deep End)
Categories: Poems, Saints / Awliyya, Cancer Treatment