My dreams

Sometimes when the night falls from the sky

and the clouds hid the pale moon,

and the silence settles in and out,

dreams wake up from the deep

and the memories of a starry night

back then,

back home bring about

the laughter of the neighbours

who played backgammon through the night

and the thunder of the music flew faraway,

and then the moezen chanted

from the minaret of the mosque nearby,

to invite the believers in,

unaware that non is left in town.

Should I return home one day,

what would have remained of the dreamy picture

I keep in the deep?

The reality of nothingness and the happiness

which went aflame in the chaos of confusion?

Or a town I know nothing of?

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