We shall not be wronged.
Anther, embryo, seed,
women in the rough state, the wayfarer passing,
the relatives, the orphans, the needy,
the companion in a journey,
the pure,
the impure
call.

and Allah is full of

of blue air,
of empire forests!
He sets the wind to blow
in a favorable direction.

Clouds enslaved cross the sky,
boats pass, rains come and go.
Mercies, yes.

And yet.
The ephemerality of mythmaking.
Truly my life is bones,
my city astray. The tender 
compass gnaws,
directs.

And yet.
He grinds you to whiteness,
His husk, the stars.