I
vent for harp of glory
of profound greatness
that once hailed
in the desert of sandstorm
and hail,
II
the epic that once depicted
were walls written down
generation to generation
of syllabus of scorpions,
and a magic for the merchant
of the East,
III
His glory is an icon for raven
And the Pyramids of Giza
were jealous of him,
their territory was remarkable
when humankind recognized its name,
and for thousands of years
its name is legendary
IV
the Magi from the East
and the West,
were waking up from the grave,
unrolling their manuscripts...
and they were fumble up,
about the legacy of their story
V
the nightmare from the graveyard
of Gaza,
echoing the screams of decaying people,
tormented for lamenting the debts.
the cornerstone of Mecca
is slowly fragmenting
commemorating the dust of Philistine
VI
then the verses from the Magi
chant horribly..
as they flip the manuscripts
of blank revelation...
