To think that I have wept for the fourteen hundred years
That have passed between the time of the Messenger and I
Yet spent my night in play while he in longing tears
Lord guide me by his piety before I too should die.
If ever you should find me
In prayer, in tears, at night
Don’t ask me what’s wrong
For once, things might be right.
xv- (The intellectual is sometimes suffocated under the weight of his own arguments)
Seek seek seek, and man says ye shall find
But man for all his seeking has left his faith behind
Swiftly how he races now in philosophical discontent
Tightly how his eyes closed now to plain truths that his Lord has sent.