The transformations of the strange knight in the inhabited lands

He often thinks about turning back to the past where time stands arrogantly seeming everything, but he hesitates and like an old tree deepening into the slopes of age, he wanders the alleys and roams the streets, seeing what the eye cannot preserve and words remain shadows of sadness fading away. They said: The houses differ in rulers, silent tanks and drums. The city was covered in black dust. You see the building roofs scraping the ash, their jagged features, and the crushed creation towards markets, and the hearts filled with sad complaints. They listen together, caged birds whose voices overflow with the sorrow of pain, alienation, and homeland, or jackals cloaked in absence. From inside the sound of "Al-Karkh" you hear what they are crying out. Muhammad Al-Tahami approaches you cautiously: "These strangers have infiltrated deeply, and the caliph can no longer feel safe from their treachery. They have been given the chance to rise until they became more influential than him." (This Tahami often claims to know the secrets of affairs!). "And how do you know what is happening between them and the caliph?" "Whisper! Don’t raise your voice, for the walls here have ears: since their origins came during Al-Mu'tasim’s time... Wasn’t he the first to rely on them?... Tyrants who have soaked the land, my friend!" Caution runs through your veins. Your memory is scarred with the moment of fleeing, avoiding any prolonged listening to what is being said. You know that and know more than he does. The pounding of your heart pushes you away from delving too deep. There is no use in saying anything. Things are going from bad to worse. Whisper! Don’t raise your voice! One should not trust much what is around him. In the space of the second Abbasid era (232-447 AH, 847-1055 AD), the strange Persian’s transformations revolve, time appears with its old head, taking a deep, rich breath, and the crow settles in eternal darkness. From there comes the knight, on a cloud horse, fierce, destroying everything. Neither stories nor the gray face of time have a place; all have intertwined in the transformations of the strange knight in the fleeing lands, telling the story of all fleeing times, and all strange steeds.