Let the moon dangle on every window
while the pious observe Ramadan
from my window, I note the moon
in the sky, not half a crescent,
just wilted with the effect of the stars
whispering into the soft night
gossip of the morning
this is the status of those who observe
always last to speak, easy to offend
starters of collecting dust
this is the alley I live in
lit by the Ramadan moons
the children laugh as I type these words
tomorrow the wind comes, brings
new clothes, new tales
older fears, too young for their busy heads
the cats are restless, rivaled only by the cars
a buzz of the television, broadcasting the games
this is a life in a middle eastern city
donned now by its Ramadan moons
and young women, washing their children
or their days with a book, just like me.
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