Playing to the Pulpits

The orator played upon the pulpits a melody that intoxicated ears and minds, saying: “Listen to your leader and obey him, for the decree of the ruler is what constitutes revelation; he is the sword when battles commence, and the battlefield shrinks before his might; he is peace when rifles are sheathed, and kindness bursts forth from his hand. When he speaks, his words shine, and travelers hum along with his eloquence. He is an ocean of knowledge whose well never dries; he is the Imam, and his word is the proof. That is the Caliph—if you obey him, you will be guided, and his speech seems like a shadow of God over all creation, and the heavens themselves seem to tremble in reverence before him.

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The orator then prayed humbly, devoutly, hoping for divine bounty while behind him lay deprivation. From the newspapers he continued to read, preaching, yet even the walls yawned at his exhortations. He recited lines devoid of life in their letters, save for the echo that time itself has carried. No melody has extinguished the fire of injustice, nor has tyranny ceased its corruption.

While the orator remains playing, singing, and melodies overflow from his intoxication, the listeners yawn at his verbosity, and eyelids grow heavy from his performance. Until, when everyone leaned toward sleep, the wall laughed and Satan applauded.”