Sitting by a curtained Window, Thursday’s cars drone on. Could it be they still Stubbornly deny that stark Suffering? The birds of Fajr.
she first stepped forth in Ramadan— praise be His.
standing in the check-out line she swipes my card: approved. I live to fight another day.
Youth, How it makes One Carefree. Grey Hairs in beard.
Her Little pink feet; How Perfectly They wiggle.
Mystery: Such is a window To a child. Now we all stare out Windows bored to death.
Sitting here On a moving train One might think The world’s troubles have Gone away. Here’s my stop.