You have a wonderful view,
but no way into the prospect.
I have no wings, you mutter, depressed,
but this looking outside the senses
is a fire that kindles the body.
Small sticks and dry grasses catch
to a burning light, and here
is an odd bit: Even if not on fire
and shining, the sticks are still light.
To those who will come after, I say,
Life is not for waiting.
Do not postpone.
Love is bringing everyone by the ear
to a place where reason cannot go,
where Muhammed's eyes close in sleep,
and the night grows quiet.
Truth does not sleep. Sunlight does not go away.
The stars are suns. Shams is everywhere.