Of Righteousness and Sin
Ayesha Asad
At dusk,
I take my prayers
and cradle them to my heart,
watching them slip into volant arrows
from my papery fingertips
and slink up a tree,
where they flutter, untethered
and groan into the undulating leaves.
After they dust grit off their wings, they rise –
flaunting grimy veins and enriched bark – and
float past the ocean, where turquoise sea-glass
puckers their starry bodies.
Mujib’s wizened stump corrugates, bows its head
as they pass by, and I wish I could hear its soft, keening wails.
When they reach the clouds, the mist
folds itself around them, spraying out
golden, glistening tears. I imagine them
sucked into smoldering eggshells,
crackling with flame,
their stellar mass
disappearing into
heaven’s ravines.
