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Ghazal 9 Even in prayer we are so by ourselves if the gates themselves closed we would only return in silence to the flames You who are beloved have no one to compare to even your likeness reflecting in glass could never face you A complaint caught in the throat marks the heart the joy of the drop is caught by the dust If your story doesn’t break each eyelash with blood the story is not one of love but of romance A man who can’t name the ocean by its drop has an eye that is blind a heart that is shut |