WEBVTT

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I've come up with a
desert theme somehow.

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It's not on purpose.

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I was infected earlier
today by the little spindle

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of prickly pear that
went into my leg.

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I forgot everything.

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How did this happen?

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How did such a
thing happen to me?

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"Dear Rumi."

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"You have forgotten
the other life

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in which Shams-e-Tabriz threw
your books into the fountain.

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And the ink, finally
unrecognizable,

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reached for you with
dissipating lust.

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Once, I went up the
mountain at daybreak,

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and still I met
pilgrims coming down

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who had woken for
the journey earlier.

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In the tomb of
not-Shams, I prayed

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and prayed to be not found.

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Am I the sun inside me?

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Shams will walk out the
back door and never return.

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And you, you will go mad and
spend years looking for him.

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One day in the marketplace,
estranged and weeping,

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you will understand the farthest
mosque is the one within,

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and that the sun in the sky is
not the one you orbit around,

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nor the one who went out the
back door and never returned.

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Somewhere in the world
now, every minute, a sun

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is dropping over the
horizon into yesterday.

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At the fountain in
the village square,

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the books are still sinking,
bereft of your hands.

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Even the mountains are bending
down to try to save them.

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Dear Shams-e-Tabriz,
I do not mourn.

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You spindle me,
sun-thorn, to the sky."

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