The minarets of the city yet
Ring with the muezzin's call,
And the temples of the One rumble
With the adoration of the imams.
But my soul is exiled from the
Blissful caress of Allah's garden...
From her mischievous perch beneath
My balcony is her voice absent,
No longer tempting me into the night.
Her hand no longer guides me gently to
The lush promises of her twilight prayer.
The sparkle of her eyes is vanished
From the moonlit sands of my desert eves.
Yet this dance of Ages holds me captive,
And her prayer--her vow--of eternity
Is the final (withering) blossom my
Heart nurtures to recall the blessings,
The joys of Allah's eden in her embrace.
