Rumi

I don’t get tired of You.

Don’t grow weary of being compassionate toward me!
All this thirst-equipment

must surely be tired of me,

the waterjar, the water-carrier.
I have a thirsty fish in me

that can never find enough of what it’s thirsty for!
Show me the way to the Ocean!

Break these half measures,these small containers.
All this fantasy and grief.
Let my house be drowned in the wave

that rose last night out of the courtyard

hidden in the center of my chest.
Joseph fell like the moon into my well.

The harvest I expected was washed away

But no matter.
A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.

I don’t want learning, or dignity,or respectability.
I want this music and this dawn

and the warmth of your cheek against mine.
The grief-armies assemble,

but I’m not going with them.
This is how it always is

when I finish a poem.
A Great Silence overcomes me,

and I wonder why I ever thought

to use language.