Ibrahim! Do you know what fire is? I say fire! Not the rose-garden.
I think you know the meaning of fire; But surely you don’t know to fire. Ali knows to fire & he understands the heat of fire.
Ibrahim! Do you know Ali? He is born on Kaaba, the house which you & your son had built.
Oh! I said your son, Ibrahim! Do you remember what have you felt when you were taking him to sacrifice?
I think you know what sacrifice means, well. But you don’t know the victim. Ali knows what victim is. He understands the meaning of cut vessels. He knows. He understands.
Ibrahim! If you are God’s Khalil, then what Ali is?
He was right not to be able to call him.
What’s going on me? I had come here to wear black on the words & cry out. I wanted to write on the Lady’s martyrdom; on the day they broke the side of love… I wanted to Write about Fatima, but I wrote Ali! I don’t think to be far too much. For, the departure of the Lady is an excuse for Ali to become everlasting.
… Ibrahim! You know fire well! Either you know Ali . But I know neither fire nor burning; neither you nor Ali.
Without knowing, knowledge is not possible & without knowledge, there is no love.
Ibrahim! I only know the ash & I’m near to turn into ashes.
Under this gray existence, a pale brightness you can see…
Ibrahim! You who are Khalil, say to your God to blow his spirit once againto the laziness of this body to make me alive again.