they stop me all the time,
they get together early and whisper to each other ways to make me stop
anticipating you.
They have begged me to
end you
end my constant stream of pain when
I cannot find you.
end my singular high when you
exist.
They have created human chains
Soon, I may not break through them, they may get me.
Soon, these ropes will break down,
they will win.
Silence.
They don’t know that the mystics have never written
about
love requited.
The Sufi poem is about giving.
The Sufi poem is about wanting.
The Sufi poem is about desire.
Kabir said the kings die the healers die the paupers die the sick die
Rumi said to be in pain to find life, drown in open-mouthed
I whisper and ask how far it is.
The Sufi poem is about longing.
The Sufi poem is about dead ends
dead ends.
the mystics whisper louder now
plugging my ears, begging me to
bury your aura. invisible burials.
more silence more burials.
The Sufi poet said he was here from the beginning of the earth
so was I.
I was made by its mud. He said his eyes do not seek any love.
It is inside it is outside it is all around
the mystics wail. pluck out those eyes bleed away your mouth it is all around.
Does the Sufi poet know the quest? One that has eluded me.
The Sufi poet said- there is no quest. just air.
postcolonialmigrant 