Maybe Your Magic is Working

Maybe
your words fell
among the amethyst
quartz and jasper
finding life beneath the soil
under the moss
sending roots
to cedar wood
walnut and maple.
Maybe your words
drifted on the wind
to be mouthed by ghosts
in sounds silent
among the clouds.
Maybe they melted
with the rain and
dappled fountains
danced with inkdrops
before the backlash
when my heart gave in
and the seconds stopped.
Maybe, just maybe
your magic is working.

by Jean-Michel K.

A Community of the Spirit (by Rumi)

There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street,
and being the noise.

Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.

Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.

Open your hands,
if you want to be held.

Sit down in this circle.

Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd’s love filling you.

At night, your beloved wanders.
Don’t accept consolations.

Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover’s mouth in yours.

You moan, “She left me.” “He left me.”
Twenty more will come.

Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought!

Why do you stay in prison
When the door is so wide open?

Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.

Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.

(translated by Coleman Barks)

The poetry of Hafiz, the Persian Shakespeare

"Open my grave when I am dead, and thou shalt see a cloud of smoke rising out from it; then shalt thou know that the fire still burns in my dead heart -- yea, it has set my very winding-sheet alight."

"If the scent of her hair were to blow across my dust when I had been dead a hundred years, my smouldering bones would rise and come dancing out of the tomb."

"I have estimated the influence of Reason upon Love and found that it is like that of a raindrop upon the ocean, which makes one little mark upon the water's face and disappears."