O My Lord . . .

Someone said “No matter where I go, some poet has been there before me.”  I concur.  Or some artist, or some musician…  And sometimes, it’s the poem that writes the poet . . .

 

O my Lord,
the stars glitter
and the eyes of men are closed.
Kings have locked their doors
and each lover is alone with his love.
Here, I am alone with you.

from Doorkeeper of the Heart:  Poems of Rabia.   Translated by Charles Upton

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