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