The Other Thing
There are few resistance pockets left,
patches of shade the sun has not struck,
but mostly this universe is transformed.
Every star has become the evening star.
Every soul, a king with no flag or parapet
to shield him from direct light.
Go within and discover this land
where everyone is a living soul
under a wide, sky-field with a king entering
from the other side, a jubilee, a singing
where wine and dessert and the other thing
are given away.
Last night I was out of myself.
If I were that way again, I could finish
this poem, but I'm not.
My poet-self is a protective pawn
put before the king, who is Shams,
whose light changes every being to an ocean,
and every body to a coral reef.
-- Jalalludin Rumi --
patches of shade the sun has not struck,
but mostly this universe is transformed.
Every star has become the evening star.
Every soul, a king with no flag or parapet
to shield him from direct light.
Go within and discover this land
where everyone is a living soul
under a wide, sky-field with a king entering
from the other side, a jubilee, a singing
where wine and dessert and the other thing
are given away.
Last night I was out of myself.
If I were that way again, I could finish
this poem, but I'm not.
My poet-self is a protective pawn
put before the king, who is Shams,
whose light changes every being to an ocean,
and every body to a coral reef.
-- Jalalludin Rumi --
[Coleman Barks, "The Essential Rumi," pp. 310-311.]
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