Sins of the Bottle

The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.

My wife’s belly grew heavy with a baby girl,

A weave of our love, pure as a fresh pearl.

Gül we named her – a fragile little rose

One meant to flourish and bloom as she grows.

But flowers are fickle and none blossom forever.

My beloved bore an ailment she couldn’t weather.

And when the root withered, my little rose did too -

In just one coffin there lay buried two.

Wasting away in a house built for three,

I wove a rope for our almond tree.

But fearing for my eternal soul at stake,

I rebuked the noose for Allah’s sake.

So, I turned to Him but came to find

Praying could not relieve the ache inside.

My knees grew sore the more I kneeled,

The answer I sought was never revealed.

A taverns glow shone through the night’s chill -

One could reason it was the Devil’s will.

But it was a man’s hand who filled the empty cup,

And mine that took it’s handle and lifted it up.

The first mouthful broke a lifelong bond,

Weakness turned me away from my God.

But as the burn stole despair away,

I’d never been more grateful to’ve been led astray.

As my movements grew sluggish, my mind right along,

I knew why God ordained drinking to be wrong.

For after downing the poison, committing that sin,

I wondered if I should try the noose again.

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Write a poem. You (or your character) take a sip of a drink and feel different. What happens?

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The Afghan name GÃÂ¼l translates to "flower" and in Turkey is translates to 'rose.'

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