Ghazal of the Ottoman typewriter

 So many black shrouds of carbon interleave our each white faced foolscap

& I, of Thy Night of Strangers, a but blind copy struck

Saved from Ishq's dangers, tho' Sukhan still c.c's me crap,

 By Thy living in Kufic- Know Beauty giving a fuck.

Envoi- 

Caliph! Herzl's thoughful gift has no power, sedition's hand to disguise
Why teach Zion thrift, so our perdition more prodigally arise?