A Prayer

Heavens above, break your dam,

Let it flood, let all drown,

Bleed your veins, let the nostrum flow,

Bow down to us, so you can be crowned.

Feel the heat of the sinews,

As the arms move,

To tear the fields, to pull the fruits.

Feel the rush of blood, as the heart thuds,

As the poet writes,

The first lines of his muse.

Tiny raindrops, draw an arc,

Divide two worlds,

From which none can go back.

The seeds of sorrow, reap flowers of glory,

Some shine on,

Some remain blurry.

Hear, what we say,

Look down, you’ll hear more,

Our pity, our woes are lullabies for all,

Don’t let us disintegrate,

To a half recalled lore.

Mystics and pashas, where are you now?

Come. Be the patrons of our joy.

We are the dreamers who built your city,

We are the craftsmen who gave your son toys.

Wake up for once,

Don’t you hear our cries?

It’s darkness now, the matchstick burns,

The future awaits for dawn’s soft light.