Joan of Irak

Trilogy for the Middle East

Poem One

Of them, not with them, set apart by faith I observe

the ring of excited faces. Spellbound, eyes wide open, they anticipate my fate.

Senses heightened, my ears hear the faint crackle as unlit tinder starts to catch,

a faint whoosh as the fire takes hold.

Wisps of smoke rise

tickle my throat

sting my eyes

Tears run down my cheeks as the assault on my senses begins.

The circle of faces grow ghostlike behind the folding curtain

of smothering smoke; watery vision.

Expectant looks now distant, drowned in smoke and tears.

A distorted veil of grey.

Wrists feel the chaffing twine, the rough stake. Edacious flickering flame

creeps and licks around my feet. A deadly kiss.

Yet in my moment of ecstasy I am oblivious

to pain. Ears closed to the shouts and jeers.

My being soon to be consumed by eternal flame.

A willing sacrifice,

prepared for paradise.

II.

With them, not of them. Set apart by faith. I quietly observe

the circle of excited faces as, eyes wide open, they anticipate the day.

My rucksack feels weightless. In my moment of ecstasy

I have no fear. My fingers clasp the catch, sweat stings

my eyes as I touch the rough twine that when pulled

will deliver my gift. Our end will be swift. A sacrificial lamb

prepared for paradise.

Berni Mundy

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