The frequent visits and sessions quickly exhausted me, but when I'm inside, I forget the fatigue. Perhaps tonight I'll be Harun al-Rashid, or maybe Ibn Saud or Boulefaneen. Why did I flee from weddings, from singing and laughter, and from the joy on the faces of the poor, to come to the cemetery? From the depths, there's nothing—just a mule's wedding, mules' weddings the size of the earth. We all escape to a graveyard where everyone is dead except for us, the living. The lives of others that are linked to ours only matter as much as the cemetery does. No. No. This is meaningless talk prompted by exhaustion. Here you are, welcome to your city. You should be 'Plato' tonight. Maybe I will be, who knows?

In his novel 'Bughul's Wedding,' Taher Wattar paints a picture of a man who sees escaping life's burdens and conflicts as a means to continue living. Taher Wattar tries to reflect his philosophical view through the words of his central character who, despite his insignificance and low status, speaks philosophical language in moments of unconsciousness.

The publisher mentions: The space between the depths and the edges of his large mouth changed gradually... it appeared in its natural distance: about two meters or more, then the mouth retreated several meters after the first breath. After the third breath, the depth retreated. After the fifth breath, the fig tree and the two rocks retreated, along with Hajj Kyan and his basket. Then, all distances began to widen, expanding infinitely in his mind and heart. In the moment he felt himself evaporating and melting away, he felt as if he occupied all the space and time. See, who will I be today? Al-Mutanabbi? Hamdan Qarmat? Zakrawaih Al-Dandani? Al-Mu'tasim? Al-Muntasir? Al-Mu'taz Billah? Musa bin Bughul? What does it matter? It's only me in the cloak, a millstone the size of the earth grinding, and the pain dripping. The first phase of the journey began. These poor dead, no one remembers them anymore. How strange they are. They were here, striving, playing, hoping. They fell like flies, one after another; they brought them as cold meat pieces, buried them in the earth, and ran away, leaving them to the worms. Poor souls. Two tears fell from his eyes as he took some Turkish delight, placed it on his tongue, and indulged in savoring.

Publishing house: Arab Scientific Publishers/Lebanon Number of Pages: 183 Year of publication: 2008