Manhattan Inferno Poem by Bashir Goth

The following poem is my way of recapturing the gravity of that ominous day, which has not only derailed the trajectory of human history but has also caused unprecedented rift between world civilizations, thus bringing closer Samuel Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations by a day or two. It is my way of making sense of the senseless and somehow reaching out for the victims of the attack.

Kamikaze thunderbolts
monumental flames,
Smoke,
Stench of sizzling human flesh,
Dead, comatose, living,
Whole bodies, part bodies,
Flying charred paper cuts
Inferno of Manhattan
Howling
Death, death, death
Silence at ground zero.
Hordes of ghostly human beings
Limping away
From the hellfire of Hades
Silhouettes of weary
Heroic firefighters
Bleary eyed
Drenched in hot rancid sweat
Heavily coughing
Sooty acrid phlegm
Hugs of shock
Of disbelief,
Lost of virginity
Of childhood,
O’ Lord!
Why do they hate us?
On September eleven
America wakes up
To its naïve nakedness.
Astounded prophets of doom
Baffled scribes, pundits rummage
Through ancient scrolls;
Old wounds, new wrongs,
History’s dust,
Ashes of foregone battles
Why do they hate us?
Parchment after parchment
They fumble for ominous answer
“Demonic medieval rage
Pent up anger
Mounted grievances;
Over age-old oligarchies
Tyrannies, oppression
In far away lands
Boomerang revenge
In reverse;
Over illusions
Over lost gardens in Andalusia
Over tribes
Embroiled in biblical lands”
Balderdash!
“Satanic murderers”
They conclude
“Evil incarnated
Emblazoned with
Outward poetic license
Obscene rendering
Of the Almighty’s oracle
Wicked martyrs
Laughing to their graves
Hastening
To reserved paradise
Carrying dowry in pails
Of the infidel’s blood
To the waiting bosoms
Of six dozens
Of doe-eyed maidens”
Up from their scrolls;
On came the airwaves,
The ululation
The sardonic delight
Of the Sarecean salute!
Rivers of denial, fatwas,
Bereft of denouncements
Of outright condemnation,
Sheer divine ecstasy
Of schadenfreude,
Flow in various shades
From the shifting palaces
From the shimmering sands
Of Shehrazade’s abode
“This is war”
Erupts the American soul
“America should win ”
Hands reach for hands
Hearts reach for hearts
One nation, one land
Under God, indivisible
Tremor, Tremor, Tremor
American anger on the move
Heaven is painted red
Either with David or with Goliath
Even the Great Almighty
should make up his mind.

Copyright ©2002 Bashir Goth