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The wine of my delight has turned to vinegar.
Abandoned, the garden’s overgrown with weeds.
Lantern flames flicker, sputter, fade.
I reach out to friends, they disappear.
I search for joy, but never find it.
Does God even hear my prayers?
They must be worth less than trash.
Makhfi, look deeply — your bliss lies beneath
the layers of your despair. Even if stumbling on
the path of love bruises your feet, your spine
will strengthen, eyes open, breath quicken.
