The Sacred Liquid

 Pierre Puvis de Chavanne, Young Girls by the Seaside

(Jeunes filles au bord de la mer)

Are you jealous of the ocean's generosity?

Why would you refuse to give

this gift to anyone?

Fish don't hold the sacred liquid in cups.

They swim the huge fluid freedom.

The Great Untying

We search this world for the great untying

of what was wed to us at birth

and gets undone at dying.

We sleep beside a stream, thirsty.

Cursed and unlucky his whole life,

an old man finishes up in a niche

of a ruin, inches from the treasure.

Value

Which is worth more, a crowd of thousands,

or your own genuine solitude?

Freedom, or power over an entire nation?

A little while alone in your room

will prove more valuable than anything else

that could ever be given you.

This Overflow

I could not have known what love is

if I had never felt this longing.

Anything done to excess

becomes boring except this overflow

that moves toward you.

Sour, Doughy, Raw, and Numb

If we are not together in the heart,

what's the point?

When body and soul are not dancing,

there is no pleasure in colorful clothing.

Why have cooking pans

if there is no food in the house?

In this world full of fresh bread,

amber, and musk, what are they

to someone with no sense of smell?

If you stay away from fire,

you will remain sour,

doughy, raw, and numb.

You may have lovely just-baked loaves

around you, but those friends cannot help.

You have to feel the oven fire yourself.

Inside

Inside a lover's heart

there is another world,

and yet another.

Like Light over This Plain

A moth flying into the flame

says with its wingfire, Try this.

The wick with its knotted neck broken

tells you the same. A candle as it diminishes explains,

Gathering more and more is not the way.

Burn, become light and heat and help. Melt.

The ocean sits in the sand letting its lap

fill with pearls and shells, then empty.

A bittersalt taste hums, This.

 The rose purifies its face, drops the soft petals,

shows its thorn, and points.

Wine abandons thousands of famous names,

the vintage years and delightful bouquets,

to run wild and anonymous through your brain.

The flute closes its eyes and gives its lips

to Hamza's emptiness.

Everything begs with the silent rocks

for you to be flung out like light

over this plain, the presence of Shams.