Fissure in the sky and minarets plummet –
Rocket-esque seeds of the Lord’s famed mercy upon us.
‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’
Subsistence lands lay before me, studded and
sprouting – the wheat cracked in wait.
A mirage glistening in a flooded field.
It’s not a desert but – still an illusion.
At times there are torrential rains and
monsoons to write exotic novels about,
Other times the seasons dry out even
the cacti. Pray, the farmers say.
Pray for a Bountiful harvest
And a Joyous Hereafter.
If you’ll fix the Here,
You’ll have an After.
The seasons come and go as they please,
Sacred machinations interlacing invisible
Heavens and Hells far, far above us.
Hamayle Saeed is an accidental wielder of the stethoscope with a deliberate interest in poetry. Her work has previously appeared in Papercuts and is forthcoming in Rough Cut Press.