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We are sitting in the nature garden on the southern side of the campus.
It is dark, and the autumn wind has picked up her ancient violin.
We are talking about Miranda, about Ariel, about a lonely magician
On an island of one.
My lover’s magic is that she can always remember her dreams.
When she begins to speak in the mornings, her fantasies are like white rabbits
That have been waiting all night to emerge from their hats.
My father is six thousand miles away from here, surrounded by books.
Hafiz is his savior, Rumi, Saadi, and Ferdowsi are his disciples.
He sits on his rooftop at nights and watches the stars as they sleep.
The first time that my grandfather returned from the dead,
I wasn’t at home. But he let himself in through an open window,
And when I returned he had left open The Bible to the first page of
The Gospel of John.
In the hands of Patti Smith, an electric guitar looks like a wild snake.
She is Christ in the desert resisting the devil,
She is John the Baptist come back to see his revenge.
Be patient, Kareem, your hour will come.
You will wake one morning to find there are blue jays in both of your hands,
And a rose blooming upon your tongue.
Copyright 2015 Kareem Tayyar. First published in Magic Carpet Poems (Tebot Bach)