a Lote tree grew its wings
Scattered as leafs
momentarily among havens it must Be
Passengers in transit
among this thornless scene
the unusual bliss doesn't allow
the usual to see
a window called this image
and yearned for buried dreams
for branches it pleads and saps it recieved
blood
Blood, was poured from ancient ج's
strangers shall always be strangers
they say they want the sea
but each drop - burns another tree
they say annihilation is reached through prayer beads
alas, melodies usually are a prelude
soothing are the bells in your desert
not in the present, nor past or future
an endless Now.. for memories are only
adorned as regret
we gamble with our breathes
the circle here has no rest
the Truth (as) is looking at the same night as "i"
This is my north Star.. this is the only worthwhile note..
