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In my times of need, she opens up her grave
To visit me in my dreams - she comes to save.
But I can't open her tomb to alleviate her gloom.
She visits with her intoxicating perfume.
But when she's gone, where will her spirit loom?
Not with the carcass that rots.
Not with the form that the others sought.
Her shape was a veil from a much deeper allure.
Her wisdom was her lure.
It cleansed all that was impure.
So I did the only thing I could: pray for her cure.
My supplications were persistently resounding.
Reverberating off of my ceiling.
Desperately wanting them to transcend and ascend.
But realizing that with Allah, all things will end.
And so I let you go, my friend.
Until my heart breaks again.
And you return to amend.