Rumi on childhood loves….

You even have my love and my soul, so I cannot bring those.
I have brought you a mirror. Look at yourself and remember me.



If pain can be measured
How would it be?
It’s value unknown
Pain is a secret
Spoken only by a soul
Sleeping in sickness
Not one shall pass
From this life and beyond 
Without its embrace
There are clinics and pills
Remedies and therapies
The frowned faces
Pouring in their doors
And lotions and shamans
Pain is invisible 
Like prayers
For folded hands
Much work to do
Pain is never unemployed