“All day I think about it, then at night I
say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I
supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of
that,
And I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other
tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent,
sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
But who is it now in my ear who hears my
voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the
soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for
drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I
can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take
me home.
This poetry. I never know what I'm going to
say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it, I get
very quiet and rarely speak at all.
We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
That's fine with us. Every morning
We glow and in the evening we glow again.”
― Rumi
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