holding all six directions,
but I cannot contain you.
You shine here because
you polished the surface.
The sun once asked your sun,
When will I see you?
As you set, I rise,
was the answer.
This is not reasonable.
Reason cannot walk
where this poem is going.
The great splendor of intellectual clarity
becomes a grain of corn in love’s bag,
waiting to be thrown out
around the fowler’s snare.
You are the bird that plunges
into the ocean of mystery,
and that ocean becomes your turning center.
The joy of questions becomes a thousand
answering earring bells.
All day we revolve around your tree
like limb shadows.
Night comes, a weary sleep.
Then again at dawn the faint lament of form.
With you the body’s dog-soul
becomes a fox.
Because of you a lion bows down
before a jackal.
More and more concentric skies appear
with the earth as their center.
You call for us to start out, and we do.
This is the journey Adam left paradise on.
The love-ocean roils with praise,
and that sound increases now
as I end this and wait
for your discourse to begin.
[Rumi, ‘Faint Lament of Form’; originally posted on OkCupid]
No comments:
Post a Comment