Tuesday, July 22, 2014


Kay Hassan

“This is my  recent  regret to  an  Indian  Zoroastrian  Lady  who  had sold ,  for  her son’s journey,  her only  prayers'  book ; the rarest  papyrus of  the Zoroastrian cult in the universe.     Ironically, however ,in the  bootleggers’ language,  every now and then, I tell her son . ‘Alas, we are the real heir of Zoroaster,  you should  have told me, man. ’”

When  swarming  locusts   digest your cult
Gracefully rip up your cocoon,
You have no maritime command,
And rocks are  never like waters,
Truly,  no one  would  stand by you
No more hide in the ancestors'  caves.
Set  a  sail  down  the towering mountains ,
To the pastures,  where your folks  dwell,
Don't hold back or
 hide your diamond  face in the mountains,
But never work  on  Kings’ horses again,
Play the  longest  game of the chest,
Learn the  trade of  silk  yarn-ing- fabric knitting  ,
Or  under  Hephaestus,   (If you are angry at Xenophon,  remember he was  the worst student of Socrates.) 
Acquire skills in  arts and  metal smith-ing,
To forge  out of the gold of  your  tumbledown soul,
 the best craftsman of all time -  il miglior fabbro*.
But   learn not to  write  any Damn  Divine Book.

*Dante   via T. S.  Eliot.


Twitter Delicious Facebook Digg Stumbleupon Favorites More