BY AVELLINA BALESTRI

You are the song of the split-sword,

And the Kabbah’s crumbled wall;

You are the bearer of doom’s doors

And a pagan’s scornful spit.

You are the digger of the bleeding well,

And the depth of Zahra’s grave;

You are the sage of the crushed rose

And the perfume of the pure.

You are the champion of the lowest slave,

And they ask if you are king;

You are the seeker of angelic fruit,

And they ask if you are a man.

You are the sun of the widow’s day,

And the moon of the orphan’s night;

You are the sweetness of the bee’s striving

And the gold of honey’s comb.

You are the span of heaven’s stars,

And the pulse of prophetic words;

You are the sacrifice of the saints,

And the taste of bitter herbs.

You are the sire of martyred sons,

And the screaming of the sands;

You give the beggar hearty bread

And your killer dates and milk.

You are the one that succeeds,

The lion that roars for the One;

We sing as Zulfiqar sang,

Haidar! How is he a man?