Exalted be the voice of the muezzin .. It is Morocco .. The darkness has not yet completely closed its curtain, as if it were a half dark curtain, the inside of whic
Exalted be the voice of the muezzin .. It is Morocco .. The darkness has not yet completely closed its curtain, as if it were a half dark curtain, the inside of which is darkness and the visible before it is light. I remembered a small palm tree standing near my father’s grave, I saw it from afar, as if it was a gray ghost stretching its arms out in hesitating darkness, I walked in turbulent and fearful steps, groping my way cautiously, trying to realize if there was a grave under me so that I would not cross it, I remembered my mother running after me when I was young Trying to get past the graves, but there is no light now, and now I am groping my sins more and more, trying to reach the palm tree before it disappears into the deep darkness. I'm moving slowly ...This is dirt that rises a foot from the ground .. Go back a little .. I change my course, perhaps it is a grave .. I am walking .. This is dirt higher by about a foot as well, but my leg has treaded all of it .. I continue against my will. I raise my head .. I look at the palm .. It is close now, about twenty steps I will get, now it is not a ghost rising in hesitating darkness, but a painting of a dark-tempered painter!
