Poem 123: Martyrdom Poem by Samer Madbak

Methought I heard the "dark one" speak
Methought the covert creek
The rill
Has sadly purled
In yonder hill
In brushes now unfurled
In thickets plain
Methought I stole a peek
At that secluded world
That martyrdom unique
That holy pain

Perhaps the buried trove
Was disinterred
Perhaps I heard
Niobè's keen
A chirp in yonder grove
A trill of grief
The flutter of a wounded bird
What torments have I seen? !
What blood of love?
What crest of disbelief?

The "dark one" spoke
Praising her detriment
Lauding her bitter bread
Her anguish heaven-sent…
She will not doff
Her pitchy cloak
Undo her ashen bed
Or scoff
At cordial care…
The "darksome one"
Will never trace
Should never seek
The blush of life, the genial sun
Cannot absorb
The lively air
She is her own illumination
And her single grace
She is that lucent orb
The apogee of pique
The spotless connotation
Of despair
She is the weariness of Cain
That martyrdom unique
That holy pain.


Beirut
March 19th 1997