When he bulges his eye
as the orbed sun
just over the morning hill
he frightens me
and I contract
to the detumescence
of my fresher days
the Headmasters grip
lies unbroken
though carrying the cancer of time
on his crooked back
like my forgotten friend
Quasimodo
and when he smiles
I relief in toykind joy
though in distance
he appears shrunk
and I magnified
in importance
quietly posing
to hear the countless feet
of regiments of whores on the march.
The writer is the Ibn Khaldun Chair of Islamic Studies, School of International Service, American University, Washington, DC
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