Today, I see your face,
the stones start spinning.
Out of the empty, vast landscape
You suddenly appear.
All my studying wanders.
I lose my place.
This river water turns pearly.
This Fire dies down
and does not consume.
In your presence
I do not want
what I thought I wanted,
those three little hanging lamps.
Inside your eyes
all the ancient manuscripts
seem like rusty, old mirrors.
I feel your breath soft
warm against my bearded cheek
in my mind
unseen new shapes appear.
Your music in my ear
is all I desire and
this song’s wings
are as widespread
as spring
You take my hand
You move me
like an old great wheeled wagon
rolling along this old war torn trail.
I turn to you
and I can’t help
but
to ask you
to please
Drive slowly.
Original by Rumi
rewrite by John