A psychic said it was in my thirteenth year,
when family gathered in weather most foul, one
near to me cast a curse, unnatural gaze, spurred
by envy, jinxed with hate.
Years later, I met a man, a vendor of junk.
I have just the thing for you, my dear, he winked,
steering me to a trunk with narrow drawers.
It belonged to the local optometrist.
Before me glowed a tray of staring glass, a mix
of size and hues. Entranced, I fixed on blue. Then,
paid, and tucked the orb inside my purse.
Ah, mashallah. You choose wisely. Oh, really, why?
Blue is a talisman to protect you from the evil eye.
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