Facing a Brobdingnagian


From the door came out a giant man
To combat me in an ancient Egyptian arena.
I thought of it a paltry scuffle.

Who could’ve imagined
The battle of a man
So feeble as I,
And a Brobdingnagian,
I beheld before me.
His face like an ancient Gladiator
His arms, steel moulden.
His eyes like a tiger,
Fierce without a sign of fear.
His thighs as if borrowed
From an Indian elephant.

This man I had to face
In a world I had never seen
For you,
I had to fight.
For you,
I had to win.
Was not a world as is today
To win you from some flirts
In a bar, a cafe or a pub.

As I woke up beside you,
In this wooden bed blanketed.
Then I noticed
Not a giant grunting
But you, snoring.

                  _____Muhammad Shahab.


To Helen of Troy


Sweet Helen!
Were you real?
Or a startling work of human imagination?

Your rosy lips and curly hair,
Hands fair and gaze ethereal,
The smile behind your lips,
Preternatural to behold.

A wish to be wished,
Is a time spent with you,
A moment, an hour or a year,
Here, there or anywhere.
I entreat a nugatory visitation,
The rendezvous is my brain,
My imagination is my station.

          _____Muhammad Shahab