The illusion of the Self's so strong that I
drink water for my health, for heavens vie
"If truly you're a dervish of the Way
then you should write a poem, not idly lay"
The Self has many guises just like this
that guide you 'long the Way if you're amiss
A king whose lonesome wish is to be freed
from his unwelcome crown yelled on his steed:
"To overcome the Self you truly must
have feelings above those of primal lust"
As he went his Way, in the settling dust
a sufi and his bowl, both filled with trust
"Each day of my existence, beg and plead
that others will supply me what I need
mostly I get tender, the least to say
but some who are advanced along the Way
will pleasantly surprise me - 'I'll be gay
to offer you massage', I'll here them say"
And as they're rubbing on his aching feet
In a distant land, there falls some sleet
It falls upon a dog, whose mind's eye sees
A straggler from a distant hive of bees
He dreams about a visit to that land
Where the treated-on sufi plays with sand
The masseuse, having finished with the task
Simply cleans his hands, rising to ask
"Of all these characters, dear Effendi
pray tell, which one am I -- which one is He?"
"I think your faith is strong; your selflessness
is what has brought you to your present mess
although you have no Self, I still must ask
if you would like some wine? I've got a cask.
As for your words.... about divinity,
I think the One you seek, is Trinity"