Rumi's Mathnawi -- #441

[Guest guest]

What I want to see is your face

in a tree, in the sun coming out,

in the air.

 

What I want is

to hear the falcon-drum, and light again

on your forearm.

 

You say, "Tell him I'm not here." The sound

of that brusque dismissal

becomes what I want.

 

To see in every palm your elegant silver coin-shavings,

to turn with the wheel of the rain,

to fall with the falling bread

 

of every experience,

to swim like a huge fish

in ocean water,

 

to be Jacob recognizing Joseph.

To be a desert mountain

instead of a city.

 

I'm tired of cowards.

I want to live with lions.

With Moses.

 

Not whining, teary people. I want

the ranting of drunkards.

I want to sing like birds sing,

 

not worrying who hears,

or what they think.

Last night,

 

a great teacher went from door to door

with a lamp. "He who is not to be found

is the one I'm looking for."

 

Beyond wanting, beyond place, inside form,

That One. A flute says, I have no hope

for finding that.

 

But Love plays

and is the music played.

Let that musician

 

finish this poem. Shams,

I am a waterbird

flying into the sun.

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie