He is whirling,
Devout in his movements,
The aches in his legs mean nothing,
Physical exertions to praise the upper,
Let the spiritual ecstasy never cease,

Spin and praise,

Upon the sunburned steps of Istanbul,
His ebony robes appear a turbine,
The whirling continues,
A trance-like tornado of limbs,
Arousing his soul,

Spiral in wajad,

This Dervish and his euphoric twirl,
Is closer to immortality than I could dream,
Each priestly rotation brings further enlightenment,
The whirling shall not stop,
Not until salvation bears its head.

Comments
  1. Carol anne says:

    Awesome poem! ❤ very very good!

  2. Shruba says:

    How do you do these simple illustrations so expressively aaaa. I can never comprehend the magic. The poem is amazing but it’s always your illustrations that really make me curious about what the poem will be saying 🙈😍

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