Oh, Bird Of My Soul, Fly Away

There Is A Basket Of Fresh Bread On Your Head, Yet You Go Door To Door Asking For Crusts.

What Shall I Say, O Muslims, I Know Not Myself, I Am Neither A Christian, Nor A Jew, Nor A Zoroastrian, Nor A Muslim.

I Was You And Never Knew It.

Pain Is A Treasure, For It Contains Mercies.

God Has Allowed Some Magical Reversal To Occur, So That You See The Scorpion Pit As An Object Of Desire, And All The Beautiful Expanse Around It As Dangerous And Swarming With Snakes.