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RAZA ALI HASAN
66
Bilal’s world, black world, mortgaged world, third world,
the black pupil in the roving eye of the earth.
Bilal’s compass had redrawn it as the crescent-world.
Warmth of the sun had made it fertile.
Now mercurial, it quickens at his name.
In locked, arid hopelessness, a sparkle in the eye.
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