I'm not at home here, here in this place of distraction. What am I doing here, how Did I get on this hard road ?
Even a moment, a pinching Second from the Beloved's Side is outlawed by Love's code.
If only this strange neighborhood Had a hint of him-by God that would be a feast for me.
How can a finch, the size of a thumbprint slip away from This place, even the Simurgh Proud pilgrim is tied by the loot.
Don't slide my heart, don't Feint truth, keep your pristine Place where a column of light Grows fat on your steady pulse.
Choose a plum flush with golden Juice rearing life, taste on your Tongue only the musk of vintage.
Treat aroma, devious image Playing upside down in the eye.
The cast of colors taking a bow. For what they are: players, ghosts.
Insubstantial, carping things to Displace you with shame and strife.
Collect the eye, take a holiday from your tongue, disestablish the senses and compose yourself.
For you are pressing on the abyss.
~ Rumi from Words of Paradise translations by Raficq Abdulla |
No comments:
Post a Comment