May the muddy waters clear to reveal your face;
May the mirror be polished to reflect your grace.
The wretched mind always makes the same mistake
Of forsaking the real and embracing the fake.
The desire of self-image is brick upon brick
Of wants imprisoned in walls ugly and thick.
We worship pure fire for political reasons:
The tyranny of mind must be burnt as treason.
The cry of our heart is torture we can survive,
So long as when cut out- at your feet it thrives!
How long will the world turn on its axis,
Before it wobbles and impales our praxis?
Darvish is weary of spinning time without end;
He longs for muddy waters to reveal the friend.
