A Dweller Among The Tulip Beds

I have no grievance with life itself;

Wherefore the mountains stand, and streams flow to---
The infinite vastness of the realm blanketed with stars
Inquiring not the reason for my being
Why ask of which is---can it be changed?
My creator and author of my destiny foretell of my death
Rumi once wrote, "do not talk of what is invisible"
Born with free will, It is the quality I have dominion over
Not the existence of--- my being do I rule?
Half way through my life, reflecting back
All those tears of suffering and shame---
Engraved deep within my heart, scars from the past
Who creates these things which make me weep?
Searching for gold in tar pits, my soul held captive by evil
The warm sands and cool waters placed before me,
Comforting to my soul, I overlooked its sanctity
Demented thoughts overpowering all morals---
Forgotten serenity, replaced by lust and fantasy
Life given to new flesh, born with no sorrows,
It is in our own self-seeking cold hearts we suffer
Creation itself is a miraculous symphony conducted by God,
It is I, which caused the cataclysm in my life.
Quoting Rumi once more I say this with compassion,
"If your face has become saffron pale through death,
Become a dweller among tulip beds and Judas trees"
Flee the tar pits, the gold is not there, seek not among the mire
Look amidst the streams and stars high, towards the heavens
There you will find the omniscience of joy.

ELM Schindler