may the muddied waters clear to reveal your face;
may the mirror be polished to reflect your grace.
the wretched mind always repeats 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 rusty axis,
before it wobbles and falls upon our praxis?
darvish is weary of revolving time without end;
he longs for the waters to clear and reveal the friend.