Today's poem
The poem relates to Lion and Christianity. Lion is a king of beasts, a king of kings, look on his look, ye, a little tired now, but more dignified before, a sort of God's incarnation. However, he faces his death. The last line in the final couplet shows the divinity of Lion, the Lord. Last glow.
The Lion
by Mona Arshi
How unstable and old he is now.
Lion, like God, has snacks sent up
by means of a pulley. Although
you can never master the deep language
of Lion. I am made dumb by the rough
stroke of his tongue upon mine.
Nowadays I make allowances. We lie
together and i hear the crackle of his bones
and when I bring myself to open my eyes
he weeps, his pupils resembling dark
embroidered felt circles. Sometimes
I think all I am is a comfort blanket for his
arthritic mouth. But many evenings he’ll sit
twisted behind the drapery solving my
vulgar fractions with nothing but his claws.
Lion and I break bread; I tend to his mane and
he sets a thousand scented fuses under my skin.
He starts undressing me under the sweetening stars.
Please girl, he mews; this might be the last time
I will see how the thin light enters you.
(from Small Hands by Mona Arshi)
https://bit.ly/2NeRu00
The poem relates to Lion and Christianity. Lion is a king of beasts, a king of kings, look on his look, ye, a little tired now, but more dignified before, a sort of God's incarnation. However, he faces his death. The last line in the final couplet shows the divinity of Lion, the Lord. Last glow.
The Lion
by Mona Arshi
How unstable and old he is now.
Lion, like God, has snacks sent up
by means of a pulley. Although
you can never master the deep language
of Lion. I am made dumb by the rough
stroke of his tongue upon mine.
Nowadays I make allowances. We lie
together and i hear the crackle of his bones
and when I bring myself to open my eyes
he weeps, his pupils resembling dark
embroidered felt circles. Sometimes
I think all I am is a comfort blanket for his
arthritic mouth. But many evenings he’ll sit
twisted behind the drapery solving my
vulgar fractions with nothing but his claws.
Lion and I break bread; I tend to his mane and
he sets a thousand scented fuses under my skin.
He starts undressing me under the sweetening stars.
Please girl, he mews; this might be the last time
I will see how the thin light enters you.
(from Small Hands by Mona Arshi)
https://bit.ly/2NeRu00