Measure for Measure

Death penalties, Saudi law
casualties, working visas
castanets, the call to prayer
the closed book, the swift
glance, the overlook.

Measure for measure, the law
holds firm, one punishment
justifying another, the pinpoint
cut from the shoulder to the
elbow, each wound copied

carefully, exacting judgement
at Islam's command, the
demands of the Koran. Yet
behind closed doors, some of
this proud nation break its laws.

Privately, people drink whiskey,
behind huge concrete compound
walls, blocking out instrusive
glances - who knows what is really
committed. The man on the street

informs you of how easily he
can get you whatever you want,
just that you must only
consume these goods
away from the public gaze.

In the comfort of my own home,
I imagine drinking alone or with co-workers
and hate the idea - the rejection of socializing,
turning my back on the world I once knew
for this strict Islamic system.

Drifting in the abyss of its complexity
and complicity, the Shakespearian Duke
dealing out his cards from the safe
enclosure of a priest's clothing,
expecting his population to be compliant

from the comfort of their own compounds
and as they walk through incomprehensibly
huge malls, to obey the laws set
whilst his family take what they like
and at the end of the drama,

having tactically sentenced his competition to death, the nun lies naked, exposed for his pleasure, an ironic aside in the midst of all this, the charade of a nation
driving headlong for westernisation.