The first poem was written by Allah,
the last poem will be written by Allah, too.
The Divine Author writes them all.
We believe our words are ours.
We claim them as if we can have property.
All belongs to Allah!
We believe we are speaking of Paradise.
Oh, beloveds, we are merely the hand
that holds the pen and even then
we are not Truly That. Speaking of Paradise
in a village of rhymes, we dream
we are the poets. O Allah!
Ya Allah! Estaghirullah!
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