My friend was afflicted.

In his mind

books flowered like moonbeams

conversing with emptiness.

He faced

the disorders of modern life

creating in him a succession of

enchanting realizations.

He was the light of

sights and insights

He was the artful blossoming

of companionship.

He was fed up with the fools

living in the street of short memory.

He was fed up with the hostility

of every liar.

He was

critical of the subservience of

Intizar to Meratth,

critical of the savageness and

overindulgence of many resurrections,

critical of the madness of

the jinn of harm,

critical of the personalities of

the towns facing censure.

There was only the smoke of the extinguished lamps

and death.

There were only the thunder of a wasted epoch

and death.

There were only the cries of a ruined caravan.

and death.