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Climb to the Execution Place
Grief settles thick in the throat
and lungs: thousands of sorrows
being suffered, clouds of cruelty,
all somehow from love. Wail and be
thirsty for your own blood. Climb
to the execution place. It is time.
The Nile flows red: the Nile flows
pure. Dry thorns and aloe wood are
the same until fire touches. A
warrior and a mean coward stand here
similar until arrows rain. Warriors
love battle. A subtle lion with
strategy gets the prey to run toward
him, saying Kill me again. Dead
eyes look into living eyes. Don't
try to figure this out. Love's work
looks absurd, but trying to find a
meaning will hide it more. Silence.
-- Ghazal (Ode) 1138
Version by Coleman Barks
"The Soul of Rumi"
HarperSanFrancisco, 2001
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