Hieroglyphs on walls, sounds of nature
Artistic impressions revealing the story's nakedness
Sudden rush that turns on my bride,
The irresistible touch and vigor
Is worth my ink
Dates and unleavened bread
Jars full of wine, communally we drink
With music from the harp in sync,
I fly as the quill's tip comes to contact with ink
Before landing on the scroll.
Hammurabi must have sleep walked,
Slipped, fell and died on his ink
Stone tablets saved us from blindness
an eye for an eye; absolute madness.
Since Moses' shoes were not worth near holiness,
Barefoot I dwell in the mosque
Gently squeezing Tasbih beads in my heart,
Moving Himalayas from Nepal to Senegal
That's worth my ink.
How many Bin Ladens have they created
Despite claiming to have killed one
Again and again ask yourself
Can the world be a safe place?
With sons that can turn life to rubble
As the strapped clock tick-talks
The innocent souls to waste,
My word is worth the ink as i celebrate
Passing the tradition, generation to generation.