An Arms Workshop: Ink, Colors and Gold on Paper
Iranian, Safavid Period (Mid 16th Century)
This sword is an e x t e n s i o n of me,
proclaims the wazir.
His stallion lunges forward,
hooves beating against the sand
“G L O R Y IS OURS”
he screams again
triumphant now more than ever
as the cavalry joins in unison
Inside the gunpowder pit,
a young urchin scratches at his chin-fuzz
که طلا است؟
(is that gold?)
پنجاه تومان تنها
(fifty tumans only?)
(heirloom no more.)
His misaligned father
hides behind immaculate attire
sews the Flintlock holster with
A patch of his blood on the silk
the master hands and feet of all from his ilk
to regurgitate a new sword-
for the birthday of the fifth cousin of the vizier’s sister
His countenance was smeared with black foliage.
The barbarian’s path is not for everyone
Anachronistic mystics and snake charmers meander.
So cover my feet with the flowers of your ignorance
Incoherent. Where did you get this accent, I often wonder.
And try to comprehend my penance
The Seven Eleven is run by a stoic Indian man of fabled age.
I made my bones long ago in the East with the rising sun
A primitive people these.
The pinnacle of science and commerce stems from us
They have dirt, chaos and a populace flowing over.
A billion strong and it is impossible to ignore us
Vinamre Kasanaa is a first-year student in the College of Communications at Boston University. Vinamre hails from New Delhi, India, and cites counter-cultural icons such as Jim Morrison and Hunter S. Thompson as his biggest artistic influences. He aspires to be a high-functioning misanthrope. He’s either found noodling with his guitar in the jam room, or going around campus selling ‘expanded consciousness’ to a disinterested college populace.