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Ghazal 7 We never had the chance to meet our beloved however long we lived we would live in longing If we had lived for the promise of heaven we didn’t believe had we we would have died in the joy of its word Imagine what you think of as grief were a spark from the vein of the stone would flow life’s blood Who has seen the single face of the beloved if one of us glimpsed her shadow she unravels With questions of faith and thirsting ideals they might call me a priest if I wasn’t a drunk |