RAMADAN’S FIRST RUNG

Ramadan sonnets

Ramadan’s revelations are served up in one month, but it is the rest of the year that the fruits of spiritual experience are savoured

In Ramadan, food becomes clay,

becomes plaster, has no sway

over me during the day

I can work with it in the kitchen

sculpt it into meals, and not even

think of dipping a hand in,

as if it were for other creatures,

not human, not with my features:

Desire, you have no reach here!

I don’t even remember,

by mid-month, to feel hunger

at the sunset cue, only wonder

that I once lived in its clutches

or thought of it as much as

I used to before my crutches

were whisked out by Ramadan

“I’m free,” I think, “Bring it on!”

“I’m free!” I think – but I’m wrong

This is only the first illusion

No vice worsts self-delusion

I’m still in the realm of confusion,

as the truth dawns and stuns:

I have not even begun

to climb Ramadan’s first rung

MOHIA KAHI