They are lovers again. Sugar dissolving in milk. Day and night, no difference. The sun is the moon, an amalgam. Their gold and silver melt together. This is the season when the dead branch
and the green branch are the same branch.
The cynic bites his finger because he cannot understand. Omar and Ali on the same throne, two kings in one belt. Nightmares fill with light like a holiday. Men and angels speak one language. The elusive ones finally meet.
The essence and the evolving forms
run to meet each other
like children to their father and mother. Good and evil, dead and alive, everything blooms from one natural stem.
You know this already, I’ll stop. Any direction you turn it is one vision. Shams, my body is a candle touched with fire.
Adam A. Azim 