A peculiar beauty is found in this poem. It was a gift from a friend, but I wanted to share it.
My work is to carry this love as comfort for those who long for You;/ to go everywhere You’ve walked/ and gaze at the pressed-down dirt.
What i most want/ is to spring out of this personality,/ then to sit apart from that leaping./ I’ve lived too long where I can be reached.
Who says the eternal being does not exist?/ Who says the sun has gone out?/ Someone who climbs up on the roof,/ and closes his eyes tight, and say,/ I don’t see anything.
With one silent laugh/ You tilted the night/ and the garden ran with stars.
Rumi, Unseen Rain
