her last love poem she lettered
in her blood, her own pool of warm
blood dripping dipping in it
her fingers made of moonlight
as she lay dying on the tainted
tiles of a public bath
bent against the wall
bright Rabia Balkhi
Persian poet painter Princess
sister of Haares Ghozdari
ruthless ruling prince of Balkh
whose Turkish slave Baktaash
she loved like a goddess
so completely with all her heart
for his singing voice that told her stories
for his music that was sweet to her ears
for his beauty that moved her
beyond words
wrote on the walls of the public bath
her doomed life of secret ties
with her man
my love for him brought
about my bondage again
all essays in secrecy
proved to be in vain
earlier that day, blew a bluster through
the blue skin of sky as Baktaash was thrown
into a prison-well for daring to love
a princess
and the silent sound of noontime broke
as Rabia was lured to this fateful place
on the orders of heartless Haares
abreast of the tale
of her venture
deeming her heart’s desire much to blame
offended by havoc made
of his honour
whose honour was outside of himself
on Rabia’s shoulders, in her mien
and manners and under
her skirts
who had put his scheme in motion
as she was shoved in
by his henchmen
who called her names
who stabbed her six times
who slashed her both wrists
and left her dying
locking the doors
from outside
causing
cries of angels
clouting on the clouds
the air breaking in quick echoes
the thunder to crack harder, louder
the skies to light up and the rain
to pour down for her destiny
for daughter of Amu Darya
who followed her fervent heart
trespassing customs that traverse
and deny women’s selfhood
stalwart with secretive life
labouring of passion
giving birth, one last time
to her mystic poem
taking the painful
cuts in her neck
on her wrists
I knew not when I rode
the high-spirited stallion
the harder I pulled its reins
the stiller it would remain
this came some thousand years past
in Mother of Cities, Bactra / Balkh
centre of Bactria / Bâkhtar
in today’s northern Afghanistan
fenced in walls of mountains
where River Amu Darya
rushed recklessly past it
where no one said no to men
with clouded eyes as owners
of their women’s lots and lives
when no one resisted coward men
without honour whose honour was
endowed with by their sisters
mothers daughters wives
when Prince Haares roughly
ripped apart Rabia’s daring
dream of loving Baktaash
when she wept into verse
how she loved her precious one
love is like an expansive sea
with no shore in sight
who knows, oh wise woman
how to swim in it outright
her grave now a shrine
for the pleas of young lovers
beset by adversity, feeling for
her tragic tale and that of broken
Baktaash
who escaped his prison and hearing news
of Rabia’s death, rushed to Haares’s office
slew him with a sword, then took his own
life on her fresh tomb
distraught by death of a princess
forced to endure dazzling dread
dashing to her heart
as she wrote
if you ever aspire
to go to the end of love
welcome with it all things
vile you could think of
the first woman poet
in the history / herstory of Persian poetry
was a clear victim of honour-murder
which she had no chance to challenge
on the tail of some thousand years
the evil tempest of honour-murders
is keeping up the tempo to this day
as the battle goes on in olden lands
in faraway villages and in towns
of Iran and surrounding lands
while in big cities, it comes in
the pattern of ordered suicides
staged accidental deaths of hundreds
of women who carry the honour
of their honourless men
men too coward to show
honour by their own deeds
by their own honesty
goodness and self-respect
men too blind to see the distinct soul
of their women kin, too crude to look at them
as persons of their own with no need for owners
like Rabia who settled into her sorrow
as she ended her poem and died like a glass
that turns into a mirror
in the shades
when witnessing things hideous
fancy them lovely and neat
when given deadly poison
imagine it tasting sweet
let’s get together with Rabia at Amu Darya
where her feet have trodden and her wings
of words stretched out over
its stormy waters
let’s get together with Rabia at Amu Darya
and sing for a day when this evil storm
fades away, when bewildered waters
of the river flow gently
in lovely lull.
