GRAVE

Come down towards me, O’ night sky, Come, rest in my narrow grave, And tell me the stories of those breaking stars, As we have some laughs about their indispensable behaviour. While the gravedigger has gone to break bread, We’ll lie and talk about light and colour, sin and its flavour. Let’s read the last chapter of love, hoping no one ends alone. But you, O’ night sky, stay with me till they do us apart— With dirt and a gravestone. Tell me about the moon and its attributes, And why all the lovers sang its song. In this cave of ancient pain, and its mud of traditional belief, I loved Allah; And my madness is just like any other leaf, Which sometimes breaks only to praise the One who, After every hardship, gives relief. I heard it from the poet of the past, who said, "It’s not where you end but where you begin." So, for the last time, as we rest in my narrow grave, Let us discuss the questions I have to answer—face to face.