Obscurity becomes a desirable state,
Where joy retires inconspicuously.
The delicate face of love,
Masquerading as hope,
Both sensed yet unfelt,
Never assimilated into certainty.
So what remains of this dancing delicious fatality?
But the purity of eventuality.
A million times the heart has broken,
And mended: A silent miracle.
A thousand times the mind has smoldered,
and ashes kept: In sacred urn.
But only once will this bird fly,
when invisible hand turns the key of cage:
To free the wings of destiny.
Broken, burnt, empty,
I am delighted to announce the celebration of Rumi in Sedona…