When I see your face, the stones start spinning.
You appear. All studying wanders. I lose my place.
Water turns pearly. Fire dies down and does not consume.
In your presence I do not want what I thought I wanted, those three little hanging lamps.
Inside your face the ancient manuscripts seem like rusty mirrors. You breathe, and new shapes appear.
The music of a desire as widespread as spring begins to move like a great wagon.
Drive slowly. Some of us walking alongside are lame.
~ Rumi A Year with Rumi Daily Readings By Coleman Barks
|
No comments:
Post a Comment