build American Skyscrapers with their stones, where shall we bury then our
All of which, although mystifying to us, and depressing, was none the less reassuring.
For Khalid, it seems, is not a myth. No; we can even see him, we are told, and touch him, and hear him speak.
“Shakib the poet, his most intimate friend and disciple, will bring you into the sacred presence.”
“You can not miss him, for he is the drummer of our new Mahdi, ha, ha, ha!”
And this Shakib was then suspended and stoned. But their humour, like the odor and smoke of ganja, (hashish) was become stifling. So, we lay our chikbouk down; and, thanking them for the entertainment, we struggle through the rolling reek and fling to the open air.