I’m not too proud to say <br />please write a new poem through me <br />and I promise not to claim that <br />I wrote it myself… <br /> <br />or if that’s too much to ask, <br />just a line somewhere, that I’ll watch <br />as it writes itself and know <br />that you, not I, write it <br /> <br />or if that’s too much to ask, <br />open an old book at <br />a page that smells just faintly <br />of attar of roses, and know that <br />Rumi read this page too <br /> <br />or sitting quietly waiting for a poem, <br />or after a poem, and there’ll be <br />a slight breeze for a moment <br />carrying the memory of a rose <br />from an old Persian species <br />mixed with the faintest scent of wild herbs <br />after desert rain <br /> <br />or if that’s too much to ask, <br />just the occasional memory <br />that you lived, and wrote, <br />and a poem comes to mind <br />as if you’re reading it first to a friend <br /> <br />and I’ll smile and look at <br />the rose in the blue and white vase over there, <br />neither of us caring about time <br />while your book lies open by the window, <br />the breeze turning the pages gently <br />as if it knew which poem to choose<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-spirit-of-rumi-67-to-rumi/
