THE VISITOR, Pharos from the desert, Leila Samarrai


These are my times

When the word is not answered with a word
Harpies speak with the language of dervish
With feces they color the paintings
Of Baghdadi castles.

Bring the fire, lighthouse keeper,
And the moonlight, reflection of the night
So ships see harbors
Sufis meditate through the cry.

Mold , visitor, the bowls
To feed Masnavi to the hungry
and suppress the longing of souls for a soul