The mighty rock was afloat; a mountain, a pillar of earth was swung above its vast shadows. The crushing cloud was dropped. And every thing beneath was no more.

From ashes, the remains were brought. And the lifeless corpse was rendered before. What an unearthly show! Indeed trickery is what we saw.

“Lord, halt thy sun!” A prayer in battle. “Split the moon!” A challenge from the unworthy. Show me a sign! An order from the lesser.

Lord, prove thy signs to me!
A thousand miracles more.
Another, O Lord, to see!
Be nothing. Be once more.
It’s but foul magic!
Nothing to fall for
Who brings back the bones
Of long forgotten yore
Blinded is man
Forevermore

Heard you the sound
Of the proof?
Or have you seen
The light aloof?
If you see it as day,
And hear it sway
You wouldn’t believe still,
Or follow its starry way

Nothing keeps Us from sending the ˹demanded˺ signs except that they had ˹already˺ been denied by earlier peoples. And We gave Thamûd the she-camel as a clear sign, but they wrongfully rejected it. We only send the signs as a warning.
— Surah 17 (The Journey of the Night)

Those who say, “Allah has commanded us not to believe in any messenger unless he brings us an offering to be consumed by fire ˹from the sky˺.” Say, ˹O Prophet,˺ “Other prophets did in fact come to you before me with clear proofs and ˹even˺ what you demanded—why then did you kill them, if what you say is true?”
— Surah 3 (The House of Imran)

Say, ˹O Prophet,˺ “Had there been angels walking the earth, well settled, We would have surely sent down for them an angel from heaven as a messenger.”
— Surah 17 (The Journey of the Night)

Such there is Night، not Night as ours—Unhappy Folk
— J.R.R. Tolkien.

The Unhappy Folk: unhappyfolk.org
Telegram: unhappyfolk.t.me
Mail: msg@unhappyfolk.org

Possible Interpretation

The poem dramatises the futile cycle of human demands for proof and subsequent rejection of divine signs. The opening destruction and resurrection represent God’s demonstrations of power—concrete miracles that should compel belief but are instantly dismissed as “trickery.”

The italic sections form humanity’s escalating demands: historical references (Joshua’s sun, the moon-splitting) establish a pattern of miraculous interventions that were never enough. “Show me a sign!” captures the entitled tone—humanity commanding God rather than supplicating. The repetition ("A thousand miracles more", “Another, O Lord, to see!”) emphasises insatiability.

“It’s but foul magic!” reveals the perpetual goalpost-shifting: when signs are given, they’re rationalised away. The rhetorical question “Who brings back the bones” acknowledges God’s resurrectory power whilst simultaneously dismissing it—humanity asking questions to which they refuse answers.

The final stanza presents divine resignation: even with unmistakable sensory proof, “You wouldn’t believe still.” The poem suggests faith’s absence isn’t an evidence problem but a dispositional one—humanity is “blinded” by choice, rendering the entire cycle of demand and demonstration tragically pointless. God can provide infinite signs to those predetermined to reject them all.