Eyes I saw full of me,
Blue, or brown, these
   now pass by me,
The lore of Love thus
       defined
Remains unspoken,
   though refined:
To where is he gone,
    she in muttering
       tone asks;
We've left so much
    for the WASPS;
Now, retreated for
    Allah's sake,
Where can I, for her,
    make the bake?
For us, for Love,
    where to rest and
        reign?
To escape all of pain? 
Hello, God, hello
       Saints,
We're your guests,
    should we have to
       pay our lives
          with rents?