Stranger at the Gate (a ghazal poem)

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Stranger at the Gate Who cares about the stranger at the gate? I do not know. The poor orphan, abandoned to his fate? I do not know. Where once I had the answers, now my mind is full of doubt; how do these certainties depreciate? I do not know. From noon till night our ardent looks would scandalise the town; why is it that your eyes are filled with hate? I do not know. It used to be that man respected man for what he did; these days are we just numbers on a slate? I do not know. The wisdom of the years is something valued now by none; the butt of standing jokes, this balding pate? I do not know. The saqi turns his back; how many skins will be required, oh my love, this unholy thirst to sate? I do not know. Once upon a time Amir was counted a believer; to every question now I simply state, I do not know. ------------------------------------------------------------------ The poem above is a ghazal, a medieval Persian form of Arabic origin. I wrote it some nine years ago for a Wikihow article, releasing it to Creative Commons, and it has been used extensively as a sample of the form since. Here’s the article, in case you’re interested in tackling the form (It's fun and not particularly difficult):