leave us here in our women’s chambers
leave us here so secure
chewing the lotus
with lotus maiden
amidst the fumes of a suspended past
that waft away
an uncertain future
space so marble-cooled
illusions so fixed behind crenellated
tiled and cypress walls
the blood and passion of war
the heat and dust
of the summer plains
is far
far is panipat
farther the streams of samarkand
sweet the tintinnabulation
of the tiny golden bells
on female feet
sweet the swirl of the skirt
leave us in the zenana
to frolic as imperial transvestites
to shrieks of cool laughter
and the soft pleasures
of the indian clime
don’t start
oh son of taimur
that strange sound is just
the british bugle playing its tune
take another pull
with golden goblets and jeweled swords
let us play out the history of our race
let us once again war
and love
here
behind the laced curtains of the woman’s chambers
The writer is the Ibn Khaldun Chair of Islamic Studies, School of International Service, American University, Washington, DC