Hagar sits all weeping
on a stone mid road
and asks the winds
which way to go.
One says, Go east –
the other – due west
and the third, a grand trickster
plays tricks in her hair.
She asks the birds
flying this way and that.
One says – go north –
and the other south.
Hagar weeps: “God in Heaven,”
For years I’ve been so devoted,
and now I’m scorned
by the bird and the wind.
And Hagar lifts her eyes
and sees a caravan,
and –
a green-robed Sultan
striding ahead.
He comes nearer, nearer
then speaks in a resolute tone,
“Say, aren’t you Hagar,
the concubine of Abraham?
“And the little fat brat
is Ishmael, I presume.
The Prophet has proclaimed
we descend from his race.”
And he bows down before her
and grovels in the dust
“We’ve found our chosen ones:
Allah, Allah, be praised!”
And Hagar sits astounded
And doesn’t know what is true.
And a silver half-moon
glimmers in her hair.
(Itzik Manger)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Heaven Poems, Birds Poems, Hair Poems, Silver Poems, Prophets & Prophecies PoemsBased on Keywords: ishmael, half-moon, trickster, concubine, hagar, grovels, green-robed