By JH Sayyar
I wonder! When the mosques collapse in dust,
Domes once bright now lie in shattered stone,
The kings and courts, in which the faithful trust,
Keep mute as if the pain were not their own.
The call to prayer is drowned in grief’s lament,
Yet gilded halls still echo with feast and cheer;
While widows kneel where holy walls bent,
Their cries fall flat no brother’s help draws near.
O lands that boast the crescent’s noble flame,
Why let its light grow dim in shameful night?
Your silence writes a long and bitter name,
A record inked in bitter tears, not in the right.
Awake! Before the last mosque turns to clay,
And Heaven asks why you looked far away.
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