Moroccan light, Moroccan warmth.
Colour glowing glass. An orgy of hue. Warming me. Lighting my path.
He said ‘ I am the light and the Way’.
I say give me my Moroccan light any day. It’s here and it’s real. I see it. I feel it.
He never illuminated in my dark, obliterating conundrums. Far far away, in the impenetrable recesses of non existence.
But This lamp points out My path. Its heritage speaks to my eyes and touch. The call to prayer religiously reverberates in all our ears. Unifying us in our annoyance. anticipation.
No more fairy tale Messiah complex.
My Moroccan lamp will do just fine.
