I hear that is his game.
Searches the past for a story,
And lets it take him away.
Suddenly he is there,
And takes his sister along too.
In any era he chooses,
The details become vivid.
“And then we went…”
And then he is gone.
Remembering a memory not there.
Call it lies.
Call it insanity.
I call it imagination.
The gift to humanity.
Why not be swept away?
Ride on the wings of your dreams and soar…
You can always be there,
When here is a bore.
And he sure has things to remember…
In a dark, tiny, isolated room.
With naught but a bucket and faucet.
A pain-relieving pill is his pen.
He tallies the days in prison.
The days he’s been hidden away from the sun.
In a silence worse than beatings,
The sound of dripping water is his entertaiment.
“Waterfalls,” he says.
On the chair of truth and lies,
Hooked to wires and probes,
Outsmarts them with his wit,
Loosens the gadgets and cords.
Plays with the devices,
Acts as if he is unintelligent,
Clueless, and oblivious.
He is questioned,
But he questions back.
Leads the questioner astray,
With stories about hunting doves.
Asks about his children.
Until the questioner remembers,
“Who is asking the questions here?”
“I don’t know…what do you prefer?”
The paramount of sarcasm,
In such a dire situation.
They tried to drive him crazy-
Instead he drove them insane.
And the spies.
He acted indecisive.
As if it was a guessing game.
Tore the paper in the end.
Too smart to let them win.
Left the prison white as a ghost.
Locked away for 45 days.
Left the first day of Ramadan,
And his very first stop,
Was the barber’s shop.
Because he couldn’t greet his mother,
Without looking his absolute best.
He crept in and found her sitting after prayer,
His cold hands covered her eyes…
That day he gave his family a sweet surprise.
Forty-five days in prison didn’t break his soul.
Their torture methods he rose above.
There are wonders out there in the world…
People that amaze me.
They. Remember. When.