Baghdad

Born of glory and order,

the Round City on the Tigris,

City of Peace, vision of al-Mansur,

home to scholars and artists

and people of a deep

belief.

That memory hails

the wounded city

on its knees now bent with grief.

It asks the world

if it can love the bitter heart

of Baghdad,

victim of violence

and soul-disease.

If the earth, our body,

aches in one area,

does not the whole human self

bend toward that place

and seek to give it ease?

I do not know you,

Baghdad. For your pain,

I cannot find a meaning,

but you are part

of the spiritual landscape,

asking to be healed,

and what prophet of peace

ignores that plea,

whether

it come in silence

or in keening?

Next Chapter: Shadow Heron