Darvish Khan Writes

When a man pulls out his dick and reveals a gun,
He is confessing: I am more macho than anyone.

America the beautiful and the utterly flaccid,
Cannot swallow enough viagra to be respected.

The impotence of our rage drives us stark crazy,
Even as we celebrate pumped-up puerility!

We are the superhero who fights his many wars
With blazing six guns and comical tattooed scars.

The sick, the old and the young don’t need protection:
The War on Terror demands all our brave attention.

We are in a state of such collective psychosis,
That the NRA represents our supreme gnosis.

Darvish observes behind the pall of acrid smoke,
The gunslinger’s cold dead hand clutching his dick.

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The magic play of her eyebrow like a crescent
Drives me crazy with lust for her heavenly scent.

The poet protests love loves not those whom love
Fattens, but makes destitute: such is his reproof.

O God, bent and witless I stumble to your feet,
A beggar’s lips with only your name to repeat.

She took out her bright mirror and began to preen,
Curls upon curls caused my heart to wildly scream.

All the night I watch her until dawn’s false light,
When she cruelly disappears and fades from sight.

Night is all vanity and day begins once again;
All but her pale face fills me with regret and pain.

Darvish walks and walks to beg his daily bread;
One day, her magic will invite him into her bed.

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Lives of regret fire my longing for eyes of light:
Despair is the veil that will reveal lips of delight!

The body of my idol is stark naked purity,
And her curves are full of robust sanctity.

The chains of curls that wrap around my throat
Inspire my bondage with the bolbol’s golden note.

What the rival said is all baroque and gibberish:
A single ringlet has left him spent and liverish.

The breeze at dawn caressed my mind into silence,
And my wild heart became a garden of fragrance.

But your lips, your lips full of clear and mature wine,
And your eyes full of light- they have denied mine!

O God, Darvish drinks the dregs from an empty glass,
For the idol has left him blind and in sober distress!

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What God or gods will hear out our tale to the very end;
We drone a tune on and on not even we comprehend.

The dull pain of stone is a song locked away in granite
That groans for ten million year though we have forgotten it.

How the green hand reaches for the sky with tremulous finger,
With face buried deep in dank earth with mineral hunger.

Worm crawls and crawls in black earnest to find the light;
(Komodo dragon, your spit is the apotheosis of fright!)

Fish sob with longing only when writhing for water’s arms,
And bird laments for rose only when dark conceals her charms.

Animal grunts with gross pleasure, and monkey is all smile
At man’s gesticulation full of chattering denial.

Darvish looks around, and wonders what God or gods can hear
Our ancient cries caught in the throat clamoring with fear.

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