My “Sura of the Cow” – or, When Did A Muslim

Islam gives us a radiant example

of how a religion – or ideology parading as one –

is like a cow:

The Sufi takes the udders in hand

and brings forth milk,

nourishing all;

the Muslim lifts the tail

and makes loud his proud claim

of authority.

If you plainly tell him

what that end of the cow only brings forth,

he will slit your throat and return to the mosque

with your blood on his hands.

The Sufi takes plain earth,

makes a garden of it,

feeds the world;

the Muslim sees earth,

finds it dirty and unclean, beneath him –

which doesn't mean his head is in the clouds

but up somewhere else.

The Sufi travels, seeks knowledge “unto China,”

befriends and appreciates everywhere

Christians, Jews, Sikhs, Parsis, Hindus, Buddhists.

The Muslim remains provincial though he travel,

knows everything better “unto China” –

and seeks to conquer.

(Driven much by fear and loathing,

obsessed with pork and pious clothing),

he knows his insatiable craving for recognition

will be gratified by dominating “the Other” into submission.

The Sufi has no axe to grind,

no policy or any baggage to sell;

the Sufi is no slave to mind

and wastes no thought on “heaven” or “hell.”

Sufis are not the mystics “of Islam,”

they are the Muslims' own worst nightmare –

if you really know God, they will stone or hang

you in the square!

When did a Muslim last speak to you of Love?

A Sufi speaks of nothing else but.