Layla graced our town with a procession

And every heart desired to see her face

So, I adorned myself with the finest outfit

Perfumed my beard with rose, the purest white

My voice, I practised eloquent encomia

My eyes, I checked my gazes on the screen

And then approaching calmly her palanquin

I called out to her longingly on a whim

Suddenly, the curtains drew aside

And there sat veiled the irresistible bride

She said: “Dear sir, what’s all this fakery?

That’s layered on your pretty words for me?

This hall of mirrors, these pixels in your heart

Cast them aside, stop gawking at the parts

Lessen the talk talk, tighten your broad band

Transcend the tick tock, do you understand?

Obsess not on the why, the fie, what’s apt

Instead arouse your heart, empty your lap

When your subconscious’s silent and serene

Then I will be ready to be your queen…”

MAWLID MUBARAK!