Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

I stared at thenightof the city

desire to meet her was fulfilled, even if in that other life. I was drawn to her with every fibre of my being and such attraction surmounts both time and place. When, on a moonlit night, that speaker of ghazals, that young man came it was from my dark side. Had I the option, I would have chosen to have his appearance and figure myself. It resembled a favourite form of mine, chosen when I was on stage at night; his debauchery was part of my own internal, secret debauchery. When one night he appeared along with your noble mother, I was perplexed. I found myself slammed against a wall beyond the power of my reason and consciousness. My faith was in danger. I did not know what to do. The

magic of that encounter made me dizzy and all this debauchery was beyond my body’s strength. I was in heaven but I was also in hell. As we say in Kurdish, I was drowning in fire and in water. You are made from those nights. True, you were born from the real womb of a real mother and you were born a perfect creature made by God and you were born in a week when imperfect and disabled children were born, but still, nobody knew you were not a real child. You are imagination’s son, the child of my imaginary nights with Baharbanu. If you are not my son, what explains the ghazal already inscribed on your chest when you came out of your mother’s womb? Oh, child of the day, night melodies conceived you,

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