You hear that click
and you know
that is it.
It is
that click,
you hear,
you see,
dilate,
pupil,
to the light,
you hear, when
it goes out, the lesson,
and the guru,
what remains?
Ashes, urns,
or conjugal burns?
Where do Catholic priests
please themselves
at night?
Pray, tell me,
where do our men run to
when their women point
a wedded finger
back at them?
Oh, jamaat!
Faithful mediator
for those who
cannot see right
and wrong from
blinding light.
Find solace
instead
in the silent
mosque
of mind.
You won’t
find me,
I, illusory.
You will cease
to see me,
I will cease
to be.
