Granted ~ Rumi

What happens in the world,
what business is that of yours?

Two existences have merged in a single temple,
but where is your smiling image?

Granted, there are terrible famines
with no bread dipped in wine anywhere.

You control what is manifest and what is hidden.
Where is your storehouse of grain?

Granted, thorn, scorpion, and snake exist.
But where is your rose-petal bed,
your joy that is a deep rest?

Granted, human generosity has dried up,
but you could still give us
a pension and a silk robe.

Granted, the sun and moon go daily
into hell, but not your light and your fire.

Granted, the jeweler has nothing to sell.
he stands by his empty stall.
You could rain down pearls, if you chose.

Granted, there is no mouth, nor any language
but where is the surging impulse?

Come with me while the wine shop is still open.
We are dizzy with meeting each other.

Friend inside my chest and inside my hand
find your coat and your turban,
if you have not gone senile.

Whores have stolen your hat and carried off
your clothes. Who will take care of you now?

A stranger blocks us.
You could be the arresting officer
in this matter, the judge, and the gallows
if that were your inclination.

Word-scatter, hush this conversation.
Say instead silence to those who never talk.

Why Rumi?


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