Who Says?

Who Says Words With My Mouth?

 -Rumi

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.

Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?

I have no idea.

My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,

and I intend to end up there.

 

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.

When I get back around to that place,

I'll be completely sober.  Meanwhile,

I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.

The day is coming when I fly off,

but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?

Who says words with my mouth?

 

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?

I cannot stop asking.

If I could taste one sip of an answer,

I could break out of this prison for drunks.

I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.

Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

 

This poetry, I never know what I'm going to say.

I don't plan it.

When I'm outside the saying of it,

I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

 

From Essential Rumi

by Coleman Barks


I have posted that poem before way back in 17 but I am thinking of it now.  Dare I say that Rumi and I are a bit kindred in spirit...not based on poetic quality but poetic circumstance and our thinking patterns.  :)

It is all so good.