I am not the centuries-ago Muhammed.
I listen inside this day
like a fresh-fired Phoenix,
not some pigeon looking for seed.
There is a king for whom other kings
are stable boys. Some sip Hallaj's wine.
I drink his truth by the jar, by the barrel.
Qibla for the soul, kaaba for the heart.
I am the constant sky,
not a Friday mosque's ceiling dome.
Clean mirror, no rust.
I am the burning core of Mount Sinai,
not a mind full of hatred.
I taste a wine not pressed from grapes.
The one everyone calls to
when they are in sudden mortal danger,
I am That.
Gabriel could sit here beside me,
if he became God.
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At the request of a Rumi Reader, I have enabled comments, because I agree that someone, sometime might want to write about the power of Rumi's words. So many times they have met me in ways I just have to share, and so I want you to have that opportunity here. There is no expectation for comments, but please do write something if you feel the urge. ~ Ruth