@ Lost Treasure V Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

The Magician

He woke, sensing his spirits,
He drew a circle, strange, and weired
He went into the darkest corners
Of himself, and meditated the score
Of things to come. He filled the quadrants,
Before dissolving into smoke, he dreamt
Flames, of blue color and pungent odor.
He prayed to his god, half bone half flesh.
His oily skin looked like a dead carcass.
He offered chants, murmuring devil’s praise.
He was soon conversing with his spirits.