An Empty Garlic — Rumi

Here is a poem of Rumi, the Sufi poet, inspiring me to quit this job and go again for all the things I love…. being a bum, a vagabond, a diva, a DJ, a witch, a finder, a seeker, a lover, a runner, a weeper, a jumper a a a  !


An Empty Garlic

You miss the garden, because you want a small fig from a random tree. You don’t meet the beautiful woman. You’re joking with an old croon. It makes me want to cry how she detains you, stinking mouthed, with a hundred talons, putting her head over the roof edge to call down, tasteless fig, fold over fold, empty as dry-rotten garlic. She has you tight by the belt, even thought there’s no flower and no milk inside her body. Death will open your eyes to what her face is: leather spine of a black lizard. No more advice. Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love.

2 Responses to “An Empty Garlic — Rumi”

  1. Anonymous Says:

    6 lines in, I think you meant “though” when you said “thought.” I could be wrong, but it makes more sense that way.

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