Hear Me Calling

by Rumi

On the night when you cross the street

from your shop and your house

to the cemetery,

you'll hear me calling you from inside

the open grave, and you'll realize

how we've always been together.

I am the clear consciousness-core

of your being, the same in

ecstasy as in self-hating fatigue.

That night, when you escape the fear of snakebite

and all irritation with the ants, you'll hear

my familiar voice, see the candle being lit,

smell the incense, the surprised meal fixed

by the lover inside all your other lovers.

This heart-tumult is my signal

to you igniting in the tomb.

So don't fuss with the shroud

and the graveyard road dust.

Those get ripped open and washed away

in the music of our finally meeting.

And don't look for me in a human shape.

I am inside your looking.

No room for form with love this strong.

Beat the drum and let the poets speak.

This is the day of purification for those who

are already mature and initiated into what love is.

No need to wait until we die!

There's more to want here than money

and being famous and bites of roasted meat.

Now, what shall we call this new sort of gazing-house

that has opened in our town where people sit

quietly and pour out their glancing

like light, like answering?