I come facing the wind known to a bus
there's nothing wrong with the breeze that starts talking
this street is a mile -long universe of bubble gums
and swollen tires amidst the chaos of billboard kings and queens
bring me to a smaller village where my mosque hugs me without remorse
sways my head to my hand to the longing of this great golden blue sparkling dome
that I wish to disappear to this poetry closing my eyes the victory of words
all flowing from the prayers of trees and the divine soil begins to spin
do the leaves know that my energy is coming from its un silence
we all whisper to the unclear face of the future as roots
as trees as friends narrowing the roads to the gaps of soil


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