An Emirati bedouin in my dreams
Murmured to me about an ancient Egyptian queen
Footprints tracker
Muezzins dagger
Terse shouts of a clayware hawker
Look for him
Eyepatch fashioning squanderer
An old ugly wanderer
Not a pirate But someone with a braid
When the sky is dyed bloodred
He would come back chieftain
Rest assured Your falcon is not maimed
This time The Game is menacing
Too big for your Bird of Prey Your Pet Little Thing
Give fresh grains
Not soaked in rain
But in the farms of sugarcanes
God willing Not in the ruins
He would surely swoon
And, point towards the moon
That is his sign
Two dames in conspicuous hijab
And, surreptitious men who dont drink wine.

This Whirling Dervish never proclaims clairvoyance. This is just a hasty narrational account of trancelike state of a bewildered sage.

"And with Him are the keys of the Ghayb
All that is hidden
None knows them but He.
. . . .
al Anaam 6:59