In the street outside the window
a beautiful young maiden passes;
only her eyes, looking straight ahead, demurely down,
are to be seen of her, above her veil, below her headscarf; and yet –
around her, as we draw our breath, transfixed –
around her, all the air is radiant with the light of love…
and in the following days, for hours each day,
we, love-smitten, wait in hope to catch her
as she passes; and the more we see her passing,
the more we seek to snare her attention;
hoping for the day when, as she passes,
her lovely eyes may glance so briefly, glance this way…
and on that day, the day of days
which we have waited for, for weeks and months -
then, it is no longer all we want:
how to ensnare her gaze? so that, one day,
our burning ears and lips may draw one single word from her…
*
Wise men say in the ancient tongue, the word,
to pray, meant, to incline, to listen – and, to snare…
and so for every one of us, our whole life is prayer:
from the first moment to the last,
from the first time when the baby’s eyes
meet those of loving parents, until
the last moment when our eyes turn upward…
we bow in adoration of the Beloved,
of whom we are not worthy; yet…
then listen for the first word breathed
by child; by parent; lover; ruler; God…
And, lover and beloved both alike,
set snares to catch our Beloved to ourselves…
that Beloved who is outside us, yet within…
that sleeping beauty who is our very self.
and, since prayer is love, our Beloved
sets snares for us also, to test our love;
this is the lovely game of love…
God plays it too with us:
to test our faith, to test our trust, to test our love…
Prayer, O Beloved, is pure love.
This is such a profound write Michael, a superb piece of writing, so beautiful to find. Top marks and a medal of excellence for this one. Loved it! ! love Ernestine XXX
This 'perfect' poem has been plucked from that place which is all love. I find your description of prayer very appealing, Michael because it leaves the one who prayers neither less nor greater than the one to whom the prayer is offered. Reassuring words from a beautiful soul. love, Allie xxxx
Youur words are pure love....thus a pure prayer. And the words that pour out from us are nothing but His words.Our pens are dry and He fills it with His love and wills it to write. Love...TO
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'They ask you about Me... I am very close to them I respond to their calls... If (when) they call on Me' Prayer is indeed an ongoing love dialogue. This reflection on Rumi has evoked many thoughts and protected me from doubts and fears. Thank you Michael.