Shadab Z. Hashmi

The End of the War

I entered the city gates in a blind-fold

led by nothing but the summer drift 

of fairy-roses

the secret musk of books

How the market puffed up

with flags and shrouds

For a few drachmas

I bought a shroud for my sword

and buried it

under the Bitter-Almond tree

Next I bought a pail of azaleas

a lamp and a saffron mantilla 

wrapped in which all night 

I watched ink 

silently make sparrows

out of its dormant language 

Morning broke on the page

I was reading 

And I let words fall

into tightly woven nests 

And I let illumination

be the song