30 June 2013
Jane Eyre Meets Rumi on the Moor
Gone is my light, Gone is my light
and yet he lives on still. to that greatest light
Yes, he lives yet, Half my soul at least
but not with me. is also gone.
Others seek my hand, But I live on still.
but do not cherish The wind rushes through
its small form. this hollow husk
I, who know what I have become.
it is to be loved, But I am no wind’s slave.
prized, sought With what little self
for soul’s kin’s that here remains,
sake, I will erect a flag,
Will not submit or wire,
to such slavery rising in this wind
for mere to vibrate and thus
appearance. give voice.
I must be free. I must either sigh or sing.
If I cannot be with If I turn this way
him to whom my heart will or that,
ever cling, the wind winds
I will belong to into words,
no man. and becomes
Perhaps my death an air, a song,
will bring me to a hymn.
his dear sight One day a breath will waft me
once again. to another land.
But until then, But until then,
I will be I will
Now he is
a present absence,
a hole filled
with a quiet void.
What remains is
I wait and sing.
Posted by Kathryn at 7:33 PM