and my country is killing itself -
fighting wars on camels
and I’ll be kind enough to share with you -
what it takes to be an idol;
to adorn the laurels -
Persistent, lonely centuries.
And those who come to worship
often chip a small piece of bone
Or a sliver of skin
or a pearl earring
for a talisman
from a revered ancient body;
Smuggle it just to rub at night -
so lonely they are under covers.
Or enshrine it, never to be touched again
back at their quiet home,
for the rest of their finite, quiet lives.