A poem that reminded me of Song, a reader on the Caravan of Dreams

Hey Everyone,

A reader left a comment on the blog about a yellow butterfly in the dead of winter and that got me thinking , check this out

TWO LOVINGS

 

Soul comes wearing a shape

with fragrance, with the new green,

with a trembling hand, with generosity.

No, that implies being apart.

 

Companion and confessor at once,

red and yellow, you join me

in the gathering, and you stay away

 

You come late.

You are two sources of two lovings,

fire one day, ice another.

Here is the last one

The Music We Are

Did you hear that winter is over? The basil
and the carnations cannot control their

laughter. The nightingale, back from his
wandering, has been made singing master

over the birds. The trees reach out their
congratulations. The soul goes dancing

through the king’s doorway. Anemones blush
because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the
courtroom, and several December thieves steal

away. Last year’s miracles will soon be
forgotten. New creatures whirl in from non-

existence, galaxies scattered around their
feet. Have you met them? Do you hear the

bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle? A single
narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector

of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen: the
wind is pouring wine! Love used to hide

inside images: no more! The orchard hangs
out its lanterns. The dead come stumbling by

in shrouds. Nothing can stay bound or be
imprisoned. You say, “End this poem here,

and wait for what’s next.” I will. Poems
are rough notations for the music we are.

Tags: Inspiration For Today, Meditation, Spirituality, Sufis of Antiquity, Sufism, Uncategorized