All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea

My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that, and I intend to end up there. This drunkenness began in some other tavern

When I get back around to that place, I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile, I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary

The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice? Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul? I cannot stop asking

If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks. I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way. Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home

This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say. I don’t plan it. When I’m outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all

Poem by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

روزها فکر من این است و همه شب سخنم

که چرا غافل از احوال دل خویشتنم

***

از کجا آمده ام آمدنم بهر چه بود

به کجا می روم ؟ آخر ننمایی وطنم

مانده ام سخت عجب کز چه سبب ساخت مرا

یا چه بود است مراد وی از این ساختنم

***

جان که از عالم علوی است یقین می دانم

رخت خود باز بر آنم که همان جا فکنم