POMEGRANATE

Who is this with the huge green fan
Fanning pilgrims shining
Shrineward

Who is this with the mad raging eyes
Shading the burning rays
Shooing beggars keeping flies away
As I bow in prayer
And lift hands soaked in the offering of roses
It's petal scent the sweat of my pores

Who is this in the ragged homespun
Keeping us as the light falls
And bell rings and lanterns lit

Who is this who has no words
Teaching the holy axioms
His naked feet cleaned
In the whirl wind dust
His skin charcoaled waiting for the wordless

Lend me your homespun
Let my feet be cleaned in dirt
And I will be the sun and fan
As I bow down to pray

Who is this child with pomegranate
Grown in the fields of the mujahideen
Seeking the sweet within
Piercing the orange leather
Blooding aril rubies

He is his mother her arm outstretched
Waving goodbye to a moving train
And the train itself
And the boy on the train and red seeds