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Comments about Sadaqat Jan
Inside an ancient wayside tavern
The two travelers, strangers, sat
Across a thick, wooden, dinner table
He to the left, she to the right
A candle, its flame flickering, sat between them
Her face cupped in her hands
His hands, folded, rested on the ancient table
Of memories from her youth, of her joys and sorrows
Of her travails and triumphs
The evening outside was clam, cold, dark and quiet
was mesmerized by the cadence of her voice
And the glow of her face, wrapped in the candle's golden halo
To a beholder, the two ...