The walls of the world are boxing us in.
The jagged path slopes upward. Walking ceased.
Rain violates dryness: Nothing to win
From trouble but more pain and letters creased.

Rejoice, rejoice! For the kingdom is near.
And count your blessings, and ask now for grace.
Stoa’s brave stolid men warned us of fear.
And Son of Man, alive, rose and saved face.

But what to expect from sons of Adam.
Can slowness recede and words bring to speed?
Or were words the last lint hope to glad them?
Wise are those who know nothing worth to read.

Flowers and stars and fondness and order,
Strained efforts keep life within the border.

Shuweikh,
May, 2023.