The Funeral

Don’t Grieve.
Anything you lose comes around in another form.
The child weaned from mother’s milk
now drinks wine and honey mixed.
God’s joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,
from cell to cell.
As rainwater,
down into flowerbed.
As roses, up from the ground.
Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,
Now a cliff covered with vines,
Now a horse being saddled.
It hides within these,
till one day it cracks them open.

There’s the light gold of wheat in the sun,
and the gold of the bread made from wheat…
I have neither, I am only talking about them

as a town in the desert looks up
to stars on a clear night.

-Rumi

Advertisements

About A B

"There is all this untouched beauty, the light, the dark, both running through me." -Over The Rhine
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s