By Rumi

Toward the gardens,
Toward the orchards,
I am going.
If you want to stay here,
Stay here –
I am going!
My day is dark without His Face,
Toward that bright flame
I am going.

My soul is racing ahead of me.
It says, The body is too slow for me –
I am going.

The smell of apples arises
from the orchard of my soul.
One whiff and I am gone –
Toward a feast of apples
I am going.

A sudden wind won’t blow me over.
Toward Him, like a mountain of iron,
I am going.

My shirt is ripped open
with the pain of loss.
Searching for a new life,
with my head held high,
I am going.

I am fire, though I seem like oil –
Seeking to be the fuel of His fire,
I am going.

I appear as a steady mountain
Yet bit by bit,
Toward that tiny opening
I am going.

From: A Garden Beyond Paradise: The Mystical Poetry of Rumi

Ode 1668 Version by Jonathan Star
from a translation by Shahram Shiva

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