I slept and I cried,
I wept and I tried,
Ibn-Rushd came to me and exclaimed “Son, what pains thee?”,
I cried “O’ holy saint you do not what ails me”.
I doubt my doubt, doubt itself is unsure,
I think, yet I think if my deed is pure,
Time and time again, I open my eyes,
I am astonished to find myself still kicking and alive,
How long will this journey continue?
Didn’t you promise that there would be a time of the selected few?
Ibn-Rushd hung his head and then there was a sigh,
Son, the promise is conditional; deed alone will reach the mighty high.
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