Waiting Lot

Waiting is the lot of the eyes which have lived on in the direction of the sun; it is the lot of the hands which have been raised up to the sky; it a share of the hearts which have, like pigeons' bloodied wing, beaten and throbbed in the infinity of perpetual redness. Those who are awaiting the advent of the beloved are the crazy offspring of the lily of existence; they are the heart-burnt lovers who have soaked lips in crooning; they are the ones who with all their heart and soul turned their faces towards the sky praying for and awaiting the reappearance of the guide of the nation. They are the ones who cherished hope and enthusiasm and picked up energy to think of going and moving on, not of staying and lagging. It is only by treading the path that one reaches not by lingering and loitering. Indeed, moving is the natural requisite of awaiting; it leads to guidance and he who moves on will benefit from uninterrupted and continuous guidance.