It is the first evening in Ramadan
And one muezzin has outlasted the others.
He has a sweet voice filled with God: I wait
For him to become the only muezzin, the
Final singer. Because his voice is so sweet,
Like the dates and honey children will
Eat later, deep in the evening, by moonlight.
Long ago,in Anatolia, Christians got drunk on
The Sun; they made Jesus the sun the son of
God and ruler of the world. They worshiped him
As scorching heat and the power of salvation,
Who would come again as judge and burn the earth
God had created in a week of days.
They pounded grapes
And drank the hot red juice and called it his blood.
But in the desert God is not like that:
God is a palm, shade from the sun.
He is the water the Ethiopian girl offers you by
A dry roadside, the ripened mango you
Have all over your hands and can still smell
An hour after you devoured it, like a jackal.
He is the cool light of the moon in a black sky
when the sun Has disappeared,
the sun we mock with our fasting and thirst
in the moon’s good time..
We know the sun will not kill us,
that weakness will strengthen us.
That in the light of the moon we will eat
The sounds of our salvation and rise
As children until the last day, the last call
to hear the story sung again
By the sweet voice of the caller.