You block the road and won’t give me rest.
You pull my lead-rope one way, then the other.
You act cold, my darling!
Do you hear what I say?
Will this night of talking ever end?
Why am I still embarrassed and timid about you?
You are thousands. You are one.
Quiet, but most articulate.
Your name is Spring.
Your name is wine.
Your name is the nausea.
That comes from wine!
You are my doubting
And the light points
In my eyes.
You are every image, and yet
I’m homesick for you.
Can I get there?
Where the deer pounces on the lion,
Where the one I’m after is after me?
This drum and these words keep pounding!
Let them both smash through their coverings
– Rumi/translated by Coleman Banks