Friday, October 17, 2014


Kay Hassan

Darker than  the dead of the night
Onyx  like - the stone of  the height.
Silhouetted  against the summer  light
shoulder to shoulder, raced  the  wind
And in the memories of the  highlanders,
No one had seen braver than her
As thunders are to clouds
-Black  and her holy  knight,
Were to the darkness of the height .

Despite the cracks of those  cruel  demons
Who  acted  akin to the tail wagging the dog
Black was forever on the move,
Came  and went with the brightest  moon
And  rived the light like a divine harpoon

Stately, someday,  Black’s  lord,
 Died with A LITTLE VERBAL  Will:
‘ Wake on my grave for three nights, boys.’
Fatima , the maid who cared for  Black.,
Was to her a twin to twin,
Startled in  the middle of  her dream,
When the smokes of the watch-fire
stretched away like a steady  scream
Fatima  was   woken up , and ran out
 Dazzled though  by  a  siren like shout.,
 Cried in her native language ;
  ANFALA’EST , ANFAL*…                            
Fatima  knew the word  in a religion must
 Is  a   metaphor  for  every kind of rape.
‘Alas,’  gasped  she and shouted..
 ‘ Black…Black …Black,
My  dearest sister, Black .”


Fatima the damsel  of  the old house,
  climbed the hill of the Gottesacker,
Where through the villagers  fled,
And  the  Height’s fighters - in dread ,
 Had   given  the ground very early ,
Escaped the battle. (Eagle like surely.)
Fatima knew none of her lord’s boys
Would be  giving up his joys
And waking on his father’s    shrine
But  for her duties ,(Fatima) was certain
 Black would …
Without dropping  to her a line   ….
She hugged her in  a great fear,
“ Sister,“ yelled she. “Lets run, dear .”
Black nodded with tearing eyes,
Through a bunch  of whinnies and   neighs
Though she  did not speak  horses’  language,
 In what  her  sister  had   just uttered,
Fatima  perceived , the horse’s courage
Was the  ultimate  honor of the black steed
“Regret me not if  I  forced you to  decline ‘
‘Flee you won’t make a good concubine,’
“ Black !” Fatima  too, cried .
” For   God‘s sake, sister, flee.”
Black forgot how to neigh,
Denying , to be an easy prey
Plied her vocal  cords  to play
 A big  melody for her last day
“ Oh beautiful daughters of  Highland,
 Remember my gallops, and sleight of hand
Softness, agility and  wind like beauty
And all things of  my foremost - duty  .’
I won’t flee this battlefield ,  girls ,
Even if was not through  my entire course,
A descendant   of any  great horse.”


We left our lands for the  devils,
 Who flattened houses, men and fields
To sing  “We are storms  we are lions.’
And then, the time passed  so  slowly,
That  the snow covered the whole  heights,
Before even hit the first winter’s nights
But, nevertheless, no one since the day,.
 Saw Fatima sewing behind the window
Or   Black galloping  in the meadow.
 ( Anfal :  The Act of  Looting  and Killing   Which is  Legitimately  practiced by Muslims. )
Black,  absolutely, truly , really- indeed  was one of our horses, died  fifty years ago.


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