We set a mark on the foreheads of the men that sigh
Fill their hands with coals of fire
And scatter their ashes over the city
The burden of beasts plough into the land of trouble
And they pollute it with rumour
Rumour upon rumour
Every man entombed alive in the chambers of his imagery
Each day his scripture is fulfilled in his eyes
But no prophet is accepted in his own country
On earth he straddles heaven and hell
He walks on water with an eye on the hill
Building his memories on shifting sand
He looks back to see an arid land
Waiting for the train he lies awake in bed
Dreaming of the dreams to bring back the dead
– Nausher

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