A Magical Maghrib

I have never seen the sun descend as bronzen bright as it sets over Malabar

The coconut palms salute to the majesty

All the gods are dwarfed by the brilliance of blessing

Even Lakshmi's charm is no match

The hills do appear to melt like wax

The birds bathe in its flow like Christians at a mass

Muslims rush to their houses of peace as crescents glitter upon domed horizons

Smoke arises from an altar as even lord Shiv's eyes seem momentarily blinded

If the ancient Nile was a shadow of this,
 
Akhenaten could be forgiven for promoting his namesake above the entire pantheon