Had all of humanity blushed you a dusk
your rays of dawn will drown their promise.
Had humanity gifted you a moony popsicle,
your sun shall still radiate the essence of your heart.
For your face, a seed and your tearing eyes,
the waterspout irrigating your plea into yield.
What with anxiety, when you feel gravity
upon your nape like a paramagnet drawing you aground
Let your eyelids flick with the essence
of memory of times you were bare, alone.
And your Lord clothed you with knowing;
of reality with this ness of the world and the otherness of afterlife.
Will you heed the tam-tam of the trickster’s gong machining magic into the minds of men?
The promise of which is the strength of lint
and webs of crawlers?
O traveler, compare not
the walk of short-legged ducks with the leaps of the antelopes.
Equate not, faces east and west as one.
Hold sternly onto your guiding compass and map.
The sands of the desert may scorch your sandals. Yet your footpath leads to
where faithful chant the beauty of Heaven’s astonishment.