Sunday, 29 May 2011
A BABY PIGEON by Jelaluddin Rumi
A baby pigeon stands on the edge of a nest all day
Then hears a whistle, “Come to me.”
How could he not fly toward that?
Wings tear through the body’s robe
when the letter arrives that says,
“You’ve flapped and fluttered
against limits long enough.
You’ve been a bird without wings
in a house without doors or windows.
Compassion builds a door. Restlessness cuts a key.
Step off proudly into sunlight, not looking back.
Take sips of this pure wine being poured.
Don’t mind that you’ve been given a dirty cup.”
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