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