O Lord, since You chased me from Your garden
I have chased one and all from Your pardon!
Free to live while life is here begotten
I’ve tempted all. Not one has been forgotten
The believer, the ascetic, and the dervish,
The monk, the nun, the rabbi — and to finish,
I’ve ruled the kings and most of this world’s rich.
My bait? The fleshly lusts are all they wish.
I fed to Adam and Eve the Apple of Lust
and dragged them down behind me to the dust.
So many of their children trust my lies
I kept defrauding them of Paradise.
As I had ruled Your realm near-uncontested
I thought it was by service I was tested!
Then one day faced sure death, rudely molested
By someone called Mustafa the Entrusted.
Did I not hear that Muhammad would stand
and beat me with the Qur’an in his hand?
And now he flays me five times every day,
He and his people, every time they pray.
For fourteen hundred years I’ve lived in dread.
Why can’t I put my dunce cap on his head?
I’m almost out of all my wine and bread!
In the Name of God they shoot my devils dead.
This Bismillah’s a weapon fierce and fell
Its bullets riddle every hall of hell.
So often they’ve fired it, never tired it...
Thank God not everyone’s acquired it!
It misfires when it’s handled by the proud,
Obeys those with humility endowed.
Facing a power so pure, I was amazed.
Life’s just too hard, and I shall be half-crazed!
Distressed and mad, I persevered awhile.
Time passing over beauty makes it vile;
I’ll just set some distractions.... As I trusted,
The cannon Bismillah has largely rusted.
Now safe and free to fool, I go in thanks
To Hajj in hearts of many Muslims fake
Together we nicely stone me — for whose sake?
Our feet at Kaaba and our minds in banks!
Though they pretend to pray and to prostrate
Inside, my demonesses titillate.
They show their kindness when they feed the poor
to fill the headlines — money down the sewer.
My tricks are custom-made; there’s one for each.
One “me” and “mine” a thousand sins can teach.
Hell yearns for those who take this way of mine
Decked out with fun and games and sex and wine.
My road goes by the mall, then past the bar.
Play some roulette! The madhouse is not far....
Who can believe, on such a thrilling ride,
That Marilyn Monroe ends a suicide?
I ruled, for everybody loves me to.
In East and West my poison favors grew.
Fame and ambition, wealth to superfluity....
Fine! Let them think it’s their own ingenuity.
They followed my instructions to the letter.
They did what I did, but they did it better.
Their pride passed mine; they covet Your position!
I hid my secrets; with their intuition
They dug up mine and Yours! They call it Science.
In Mighty Microscope is their reliance
This-scope, that-scope, cart without a horse
Electric brains do their own brains endorse.
My secret’s out, they are all lords, and where oh
Where is the humility of Pharaoh?
There’s not much I can do now that they can’t.
Compared to their good deeds, my sin is scant.
I walk their streets, their homes, their schools and churches,
‘Neath every pant and skirt a devil surges.
Save me from them — or for shame, I’ll faint!
I’ve started feeling that I am a saint.
There was a time they fled to You from me.
To all I was the greatest enemy.
But what’s one Satan now against so many?
My pride is shot, I’ve never felt so puny.
Their egos, now, corrupt them with efficiency.
Of disrespect there’s more than a sufficiency.
Their kings deride each other, and each clown
Upon Your whole created world looks down.
They think that they have brought themselves to birth.
That claim that Paradise is here on earth;
Orlando, Florida, or Waikiki —
It’s time to go. There’s nothing here for me.
And so, with every reverence, my Lord,
I hope that my retirement You’ll secure.
Life’s pricey here; I really can’t endure
While they drive Jaguars, to drive a Ford.
But if Your bottomless treasures have run out
With all these money-grubbing thieves about,
Release me pensionless. I’ll go back again.
We’ll claim our Disability from men.
(an adaptation of a poem by Ahmed Rindi Karasems (ra)
by al fakir tosun bayrak al Jerrahi)