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26 September 2016 @ 11:40 pm

It's been a long exile; we slowly languish,

Concealing gardens-souls beneath the rags

And throwing verses rhymed in every language

Into the whirl of uniforms and flags.

They fall without making any sound

Sustaining life despite a stranger's boot

In hope, one day, when us and  them are found,

To be, perhaps to You of any good.

The stage is empty, sitting on the stairs,

I seem to hear Hamlet's monologue;

My taxi's driver tirelessly stares

Into the road enshrouded in fog.

I do confess: it's hard to be poetic

Without a credit history and score,

And in the mighty world of arithmetic

I am a ghost, and stranger therefore.

So let it be - the game is worth the candle,

The book is worth the weight of every page;

We only ask, o Allah, help us handle

The suffocation of the Final Age