Two Seeds Honoring The 207th Birthday Of Jalal Ad-Din Rumi Poem by Daniel Brick

I
We were two seeds that fell on propitious
ground. You wait in the interior of things,
ever patient, quiet, poised, already whole.

If you could speak of this birthing moment,
you would tell stories, both happy and sad,
but always fragrant and growing larger,

because this time is mortal, it is garden-time,
rose-blooming time: nightingales, one after another
descend into your presence. They sing of what is near.

It will be like this again for you,
but it will seem to be something completely
different. Your heart will house the name of Shams.

And your poems will outnumber the stars and
they will be just as eternal as the blazing sentinels
of the sky dome. But you are ever patient, quiet, poised.

II
My fate will parallel yours. How could it be
otherwise? I will lag behind, spend my time
in libraries, reading books and writing my comments.

My seed will nestle in rich soil, and send out
tendrils of heavenly hopes. They will fan out, becoming
gardens in which you sit in the heat of the day.

Yes, I will read your poems, commit them
to memory, and recite them in a musical voice
as I swirl and twist and leap in the dance of faith.

And I will secretly compose my poems, secretly
because they are too shy to be in the presence
of the Master, but within me will grow a poet's soul.

In the morning when I am bleary-eyed from lack
of sleep and you are tipsy from too much wine,
we will kneel together in prayer, facing Mekkah.