in order to survive
i had to let go
of what others would say
my words akin to blasphemy
for many, for the majority
I blasphemed my way into
palaces of gold
dynasties of old
hearts of coal
blackened by immorality
distorted spirituality
softened by my words
infused in ishq
as fire to ore
you ask for more
your elements transmuted
you melt in her presence
i am a witness
a spiritual seductress
as my pen inked itself
I held it gently
as I hold your heart
so not to disrupt this flow
on papyrus and tablets
this is our art
women who blaspheme
the likes of Scherazade
shunned saints
storytellers we are
in perfumed bazars
of Khorasan
sipping the wine of Attar
inducted into harems
dates dipped in rum
pomegranate delicacies
tender Turkish delights
powdered in ecstasy
a lover’s haven
assumed gardens of Eden
rose scented hammams
infested with chanters
maidens and ghilmans
we scandalously sing
we women who blaspheme
lay on Persian rugs
wrapped in chiffon
as the moon glares
jealously
on skin and smiles
salvitating
inhaling oud like shisha
dusty clouds form
disguising lost lust
Marjina seeks Ali baba
Laila embraces Majun
orientalist or literalist
they ask for more
saqi O saqi
I hear your pleas
shall I pour Shirazi
or cherried Maysara