I mention in my sidebar that Rumi is my favorite poet. I wrote a number of poems in tribute to his longing for the Beloved.
“No one does melancholy right”
I fancied I could sense the haze rising from the peppercorns.
In the market.
Old men and older women.
Dark brown leather.
Etched seams filled with dust.
High-pitched wails beseeching my attention and coin.
I saw none of this.
My eyes downcast refused to acknowledge wisdom.
All was there for my salvation.
Failure met success and I shied.
Without my robe.
I was nothing.
A spirit not of this world.
I could not reach out and none turned from their labors to say:
The man who tries to change his destiny through emulation of another should study instead how the peppercorn simultaneously burns and transforms simple mash into manna worthy of gold platters served to the mightiest leader ever foretold.