Swat Poem by gershon hepner

Who, or why, or which, or what
is the Akond of Swat?
They’ve found him now in Pakistan:
he joined up with the Taliban.

Inspired by Edward Lear’s poem and an article Jane Perlez and Pir Zubair Shah in the NYT, September 12 (“Pakistan Says It Has Arrested the Spokesman for the Taliban in Swat”) :
MINGORA, Pakistan — The Pakistani Army on Friday announced the arrest of the chief spokesman of the Taliban in Swat, the troubled area where the military has largely put down an insurgency. The spokesman, Muslim Khan, was often seen on Pakistani television sitting on the floor of his office, dressed in a shawl and baggy pants with a long gray beard, trying to put the militant cause in a good light. It is the first capture of a senior Taliban figure to be officially announced by the Pakistani authorities. The announcement appeared to be timed for the eighth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on New York and the Pentagon, and to impress the Obama administration with the seriousness of the military endeavor here in Swat.
THE AKOND OF SWAT, by Edward Lear
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair? Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
Is he wise or foolish, young or old? Does he drink his soup and his coffe cold,
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk, And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat? Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
When he writes a copy in round-hand size, Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
Can he write a letter concisely clearWithout a speckk or a smudge or smear
Do his people like him extremely well? Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
If he catches them then, either old or young, Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
Do his people prig in the lanes or park? Or even at times, when days are dark,
Does he study the wants of his own dominion? Or doesn't he care for public opinion
To amuse his mind do his people show himPictures, or any one's last new poem,
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes, Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe? Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss? Is his stewart a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
Does like to sit by the calm blue wave? Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug? Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe, When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends, And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies? When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake? Does he sail about on an inland lake
Some one, or nobody, knows I wot, Who or which or why or what


9/12/09