Curfew

Through the crevices of the wooden door
the innocent eyes watch the show
like a wandering deer lost from his flock
helpless before approaching wolves

It was not the smoke from the chimneys
or the fire from the hearth
but dragons from afar
that no one knew before
they set the forest ablaze
in Gods name, religion galore

As the night falls
The boots disappear
And the Talib walks over the terrace
No shutters to close the crevices
No latch to shut the door
But old forgotten spells
To keep evil away.

The Taliban strolls
To digest his supper
A delicious meal awaits him at the mosque
Delicious roasted limbs of the village barber
Refreshing wine made from pure blood
Of the neighbor's school-going daughter.

He belches out with his rifle
And the boots exchange a friendly fire.
The curfew will soon end
when the forest is no more.