Lionsgate

A vivid repeating dream that finds it’s way into many different stories, all of the same soul

By a salty stream of the ocean still used for moving quarries, sounding the heart’s bowl

We take our steps across the centre of the bridge in black coats with no cars on the road

Sunrays cut through the clouds, the pace of our firm feet pick up as time somehow slowed

Your Father stops me.

“The Emerald in your heart pocket, !پھینک دو - throw it!”

I do as bid, right between the arches

It falls, but does not crack

To my hand it flies back

“Again”

I throw harder

It goes further, it falls, it does not crack

It returns, without any blemish, nor any lack

Back to pierce the heart’s rind

This went on for quite some time

Then at his familial house after food was served

He takes me aside, and naturally unnerved

He smiles, laughs, and by God’s illustrious, magnanimous grace

He opens up a book, wherein are printed pages of thy luminous face

The dessert was to die for

It’s from الله