COOKING GYROS FOR SWAT VALLEY (Swatting Flies In Pakistan — Version 3) We used to be In my mind I see We thought In exile, my Oh the strutting about, Stand up for Swat Valley The Taliban from here in refuge Oh Pakistan,
the Switzerland of Pakistan
many orchards
much fruit
much minding.
the mulberry trees,
see much fruit, the
plum of the valley
minding apricots, damson
cracking walnuts like jewels
minding a fig leaf
a grape, the jujube
minding these and the olive tree
in my dreams of Swat Valley
like fruit flies
insurgents could be thwarted
could be swatted
restaurant work is a meditation
chopping lamb into chunks
into pieces, coalescing
thoughts for peace
charcoal broiled
hoping coalition forces will
bring a peace home, but I
am mashed chick peas
and tahini: the skeleton of
the sesame seed, fallen, my
kernel floated and crushed
feeling pasty, stuck in New York
rolling out an unfamiliar phyllo flat
with pistachios and honey sadness.
the grazing on tables where
all the world’s a
thoughtless stage, confused
the size of Delaware
the size of Swat
valley of rotting fruit
and war.
the Switzerland of Pakistan
have kidnapped
my Father, and
I work to earn a ransom, the
flowers of my Swati meadows
in my mind, my eye,
the charcoal smell of my
burnt house wafted in a nostril
for every truce I die,
while every envoy
seems to fiddle
with Shariah at the door.
— Snerd Lee Limbaugh
-
Recent Comments
Jay Isip on i Doug on i sandrar on i Doug on Oh Say Can You See “Beyo… Doug on Oh Say Can You See “Beyo…
