Gracefulness by Jonasclean

My Beloved has become drunk.
Look at his narcissus eyes.
He starts mumbling,
Starts talking confusedly.
He sways from one side to the other.
It is obvious, he is drunk.
His eyes trouble the drunks,
But don't try to scare us with them.
I am drunk, too.
I am not afraid of the sticks
Of the security men.
0, Love. My God, my God.
The Sultan of Sultans has become drunk.
Jump. Grab his hair.
Pull; bring him over here.
When a thought comes to the heart,
He starts talking about the Beloved.
Then I spread my Soul like hair
To his head. Fill his mouth with gold.
O one whose face opens roses,
O beloved, who talks
Like a singing nightingale,
My God, this gracefulness,
For whom do you do that?

{ Rumi (ks) }

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