The rate of change in Middle Eastern politics today is nearly impossible to measure. Without correspondents on the ground, it’s hard to produce any genuinely novel commentary.
Valentine’s Day is the perfect occasion for a change in tone: a poetic reflection of mine set loosely in Middle Eastern history and firmly to the tune of love. Think about it, enjoy it.
Love / Jihad
The ultimate Zionist,
Beating blood by and by
’til the vision is complete.
If you will it, then I will
Gather you up in sonorous strands
Weave them into diacritics
And read you out of exile:
Matters of Cyrus and matters of Bernadotte,
Some airs of Charles de Gaulle.
My wires forged before they all
Existed, with a sermon and a shake,
Establish facts on the ground.
Solid lines bear pregnant forms on a map.
From time to time, I circumambulate
with Abrahamic certainty.
Al-Yahudi. Le Juif. Nayaka.
From time immiscible.
Though there are days of assimilation –
Which emulsify.
They end hypoxically,
as Prussian paeans on the wall:
“O, my dear, you are far more fine
Than the Roman ruins in Palestine.”
November:
The General Assembly sits in shambles,
striated at the ankles.
Thirty-three for and thirteen against
her dusky minimality.
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