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The rider asked in the twilight “Where is the friend’s house?”
Heaven paused.
The passerby bestowed the flood of light on his lips to darkness of sands,
And pointed to a poplar and said:

“Near the tree
Is a garden-line greener than God’s dream,
Where love is bluer than the feathers of honesty.
Walk to the end of the lane, which emerges from behind puberty.
Then turn towards the flower of solitude.
Two steps to the flower,
Stay by the eternal mythological fountain of earth where a transparent fear will visit you.
In the flowing intimacy of the space you will hear a rustling sound.
You will see a child,
Who has ascended a tall plane tree to pick up chicks from the nest of light.
Ask him
Where is the friend’s house?

-Sohrab Sepehri