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