The Sorrow-Weaver: Poems

Your hands are veiled within a seagull's snow-white wings.

little cold, very white, faintly magical...

Like the pink of a daffodil blushing in the autumn sun.

When I reach for you, it is a sign, a message of an endless journey.

I fear touching your hands, lest I forget my past.

With you, every path is full of surprises.

With you there is hope, joy, peace, but inside there is also much anger.

Our guide is a broken compass.

With burdens like forty camels, our cloaks heavy with trouble, we fall into the road, step by step.

Say dervish, say not dervish- is love not already a dervish's path?

Indeed, is not this road we set out on the road of love?

Who are we?

Where have we come?

Where are we going?

And do we even know if we go at all?