Up Close

There is an army of women whose prayers pierce hearts in ways the sword cannot, and you are a stronger river than the fountain of inspiration from which you flow, cutting mountains with compassion, to a vein which they prefer themselves, but could never operate on each other.

Ah Bashir, enough with this love nonsense. Let a Woman tell you something of who you are, scramble into the wilderness, ask your Lord for forgiveness:

“They say a Devil rides a white horse

Yours is black as a cave hidden under crypt the Marianas trench

Crush their souls, turn their last breath to binary

Slaughter them up close, let the salt in their blood marinate on thy tongue

Grind their bones into powder and smoke it

Indeed, even their ghosts shall be a disaster…”

It’s from اللّٰه