A Ghazal

The black isn’t opaque, that sense I could make,
The white showed transparence, that it could fake.

The white-black streaks gate is a desert mirage,
All meaning, at the seashore, the waves could break.

The light-filled dawn has fooled for ages showing hope,
Amidst dark night and dawn, all sense we would make.

The modes of human behavior are fickle, intemperate,
From the coldest universe, the warmth, we would make.

When Camus showed absurdity, Sisyphus simply struggling,
From that glimmer, the ceaseless effort, hope, I could take.