![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcqCoKxA65Vwf1ib7oz7lR0SkSdBv6yTD8na17CFqwpN2SX5JRQSimp8cwG36L0-DyrvYHsYbzs0jBkEvnVBzZyGifVUFqx88x5wmnBe6F6JFj_dl0gF8QimRzB4bYahO6L9g_v3et0Q/s280/hafiz_sm.jpg)
Instead of more ragging, here's a poem, sent by my friend A. It's by Hafiz, a Persian poet from the fourteenth century, and that makes me feel better, like I'm just one in a very long line of rags.
This Talking Rag
It
Was all
So clear this morning.
My mind and heart had never felt
More convinced:
There is only God,
A Great Wild
God.
But somehow I got yanked from
That annihilating
Realization
And can now appear again
As this wine-stained
Talking
Rag.
Been there, done that.
ReplyDeleteI'm on the rag
ReplyDeletei almost thought i was the 'a' in question, thought for the life of me cannot remember sending you that poem.
ReplyDeleteso precise.
though...though for the life of me...
ReplyDeletesheesh! monday morning
Wow. So amazing.
ReplyDeleteOh yeah.
ReplyDelete