Signs, A Poem

A window misted the outside picture; his blurred eyes heard blurred sounds.
Twilight shrouded ferns and houses, the moon blazed over what it found.
Plasmic clouds hung from 10,000 watt stars that Allah threw in skies,
Beneath, the suburbs' streets and lamps shone a million lies.
Light is for the seeing, he mused, a reality incomprehensible for the blind.
Night is a sign too, he progressed, signs to illuminate minds, or the searching, seeking to find.
They denied him like a blatant untruth, spat that the window like constellation was built by chance.
In opposition he hummed with the leaves who sang, praises of Allah, glorification in their midnight dance.

© Zaufishan's soul.

Image: Babak Tafreshi, Iranian astrophotographer