Oh, Rumi …

I used to write with you in mind,
mine worn and youthful, then.
 
Spinning a yarn, long winded nights
drum in hand, new to the craft.
 
Oh, Rumi, who really gives a fuck?
You, in your time? I am asking!
 
I could just as easily disappear into
death, like your circling followers!
 
Shams? Shit man, he called your bullshit!
Like Gabriel appeared to the man …
 
who thought he had written everything
that needed to be said about God.
 
Gabriel appeared as a bird, sipping
drops of water from a river.
 
The man – then threw his books into
the river, and people saved his words –
 
from drowning.
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