Taqleef

It was raining happiness
From the clouds of melancholy,
Where she miserably collected
The drops of her desires,
Forcing her leg to lift high
Twirling in the hall of mirrors,
Gazing at her flawless arabesque
Without any crooked line,
In her outermost coarse shell
Of infinite levels of protection,
Which never let her dreams
Permit in the circle of reality.