Solace

A seemingly deserted monument continues to exude an air of intimacy and immediacy even after only a part of one minaret of a breathtaking mosque stands today.

I saw at the foot of a windswept hill

A tree stump carved of red-and-golden stone,

Ribbed and veined and curved a thousand-fold;

A tower raised unto the sun’s bright road,

With screen-doors ever shut on every floor.

It seemed a mountain raised at mountain-side,

Its soaring peak now fallen, who knows where?


They reared it to the Heavens long ago,

Touched the sky and filled the air with song,

Counted off the hours, day by day,

Summoned salutations to the Lord.


Now the winds sing emptily without heralds’ cries,

Now the stump weighs down old broken stones;

But doves still fly here, bearing wayward prayers,

And pilgrims still seek shelter in the shade.