Ma'arrat Al-Numan (The Second Crusade) Poem by Joyosemar Kaboco

Ma'arrat al-Numan (The Second Crusade, Mystic Poetry)

The host blood lies on the mob in the green fields of Ma'arrat.
Encrypted bodies elám in the atom of the lost bullets, that wander in the face of the child.
Abandoned in the labyrinth where blood and tears cross the horizon of the streets dressed in mourning.
The web of death succumbs to the temples under the gaze of the mysterious creature of Allah.
The voices announce death on the sabers of the soldiers of the underworld.
Bombs and call terrified everything,
There are cries and asbestos of the Kalachinikovs' bullets opening tombs over the ruins.
One sees nothing but the disintegrated dust of bodies on the floor of the bare streets.
Desires are sheltered in the infinite beyond, of the dark illusion without comfort.
I see entourage bodies clotted without coffee and the world is silent on the red carpets.
The days become vulnerable nights, the verses of the Qur'an become dim.
Jihad, Jihad.... Who will save the carnage? Oh Ma'arrat.
A rhetorical vision is born, burning up the papal tales of wandering life.
O Ma'arrat, mother of Abu Alaa Al Maari poet of the poets, march in the wind on the great mosque and shines the soul.
The rye of rosy peace will come over the darkness in the melting of the night awaiting the twilight.
And the dove will bring the epistle of forgiveness in the beak.