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The Source of Joy
Rumi

No one knows what makes the soul wake up
so happy. Maybe a dawn breeze
has blown the veil from the face of God.

A thousand new moons appear, Roses
open laughing, Hearts become perfect
rubies like those from Badakshan.

The body turns spirit.
Leaves becomes branches in this wind.

Why is now so easy to surrender
even for those already surrendered?

There's no answer to any of this.
No one knows the source of joy.

A poet breathes into a reed flute,
and the tip of every hair makes music.

Sham sails down clods of dirt
from the roof, and we take jobs
as doorkeepers for him.

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