He marked. “You stop to breathe here”
Line. “You hold the note here.”
Dot. “You break this lyric here.”
Again. “You raise your voice here.”
He was teaching me The Poetry
The deep heart rote rhyme
Of soul running, of love, of rhythm,
Of divining dreams out of time.
In the mosque that night
I read but he said nothing
One of the believers said
“The line keeps going.”
By Ali A. Naqvi
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