Mr. Donald J. Trump, Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Mr. Donald J. Trump,
Though I hold little belief that you are worthy of conversation—nor do I find those like you, who mistake themselves for giants when they are merely painted shadows—I send you this poem from the great Rumi, a poet and philosopher whose wisdom has guided those who care to listen. Not those like you, who are deceived by wealth and intoxicated by power, but those who seek truth beyond the illusion of grandeur.
I do not expect you to understand, but perhaps, by chance, someone near you will whisper its meaning in your ear. And though my heart is weighed with doubt, I leave open the slimmest hope that you, and those like you, might take a lesson from it.

A jackal once fell into a vat of dye,
Lingering there, he let time slip by.
Emerging at last, his fur now bright,
He boasted, 'Behold! A peacock in flight! '
His coat now shimmered—red, green, and gold,
A dazzling sight for all to behold.
The sun itself lent its radiant hue,
And in his pride, his arrogance grew.
Strutting forth, he called to his kind,
'Look at me, how rare! How refined! '
The other jackals, puzzled, inquired,
'What has filled your head with such pride inspired? '
'Why stand apart? Why scorn our way?
Where did you learn this grand display? '
One among them stepped ahead and asked,
'Have you gone mad, or is this a mask? '
'Did you dream of climbing high,
To make men stare and heave a sigh? '
'But strive as you might, warmth you found not—
And in your folly, shame you forgot.'
'True warmth belongs to prophets and saints,
While shameless pride is the refuge of fakes.'
'They lure the world with colors so bright,
Yet inside, their souls hold no light.'