The Strangest of the Pilgrims are Companions

The silkworm warms the dragon’s tail scaled golden.
A mirror wears the silkworm’s veil, invisible tonight.

The worm-wrapped thread exhales upon the golden.
The bearded dragon’s silken sail, invisible tonight.

Reflected in a mirror, silkworm changes
Faith before it falters, fails, invisible tonight.

The pious dragon serpentine sees through a looking glass.
The mirror reads the dragon’s tale, invisible tonight.

The dragon’s eyes cross past the mirrored surface,
Alliance with the glass prevails, invisible tonight.

The veil’s the thing that knots life to illusion.
See nothing as it truly is; the truth is frail, invisible tonight.

We hide in script revealed in distant centuries.
Mirror, dragon, worm and I slip off the trail, invisible tonight.

Salaat Al-Maghrib

Handle’s not the axe
Knob is not the door
Iris in a garden
Carpet on the floor

Wood split stacked and dry
Hinges swing the door
Winter in the land
Forehead to the floor

Fire warms the heart
Walk into a room
Pupil of the eye
Compass pointing true

Steel the sharpened blade
Mindful of misuse
Iris of the eye
Colour of the fuse

Light the wick tonight
Oil lamp’s fragrant cues
Shadow in the garden
Fallow winter view

Handle’s not the hand
Hand is not the door
Iris not the eye
Carpet on the floor

Fred Pond lives in Concord, NC. A convert to Islam in 1979, he has retired from careers as soldier and nurse, and now writes most mornings. This is his first publication.

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