The elders have treaded the snaking, winding, meandering
road,
Brown is the colour of its blood,
It isn't treacherous; it’s prayerful, it carries your burden
as its own,
The secretive woods, wild valleys and lush green grass are
silent companions,
Like flags fluttering in the wind signaling to come home,
And the deafening aloneness is the sound of the conch
beckoning the lost.
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| The Song of the Sufi Masroof |
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