The Stranger

Gifting dreams of hope to my eyes, he vanished in a flash Carting away the treasure of sorrows, leaving mirage a trash Thorns of grief were, in all, the earning on whose part Left a delightful rose in the derelict mansion of my heart He wasn’t the Socrates, yet he drank the poison of apathy And with wine of love, he filled my heart’s vessel so empty The bride of night ascended the horizon unfurling her hairs Hands of that Azar have given my thought’s idol such glares Love, sympathy and loyalty are qualities profound Anguish is what they reward you with, soothing although they sound Walked he himself, to the hangman, carrying his cross of soul To show me how my courage faltered in playing its role Wisdom was rendered, Yamin, by vainglory inept The book of vision he flung into the worthy hands of zest. ---- Azar, the father of Prophet Abraham was an sculpturist of fame for carving beautiful idols worshiped by infidels as deity