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Me and Rumi’s Ghost

by on Nov 8, 2010 in Poetry | 0 comments

By Samer Rabadi One day, sitting in a café with Rumi’s ghost over mint tea and biscuits, he told me about Shams; rhapsodized over his eyes, his fine voice, his heart that opened like a flower breathing in and out his lover’s scent; the whole body responds to that kind of ephemeral...

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