Ode 791

A baby pigeon stands on the edge of a nest all day.
Then he hears a whistle, Come to me.
How could he not fly toward that?
Wings tear through the body's robe when
a letter arrives that says,
"You've flapped and fluttered against limits
long enough.

You've been a bird without wings
in a house without doors or windows.

Compassion builds a door.
Restlessness cuts a key.

Ask.  Step off into air like a baby pigeon.
Strut proudly into sunlight,
not looking back.

Take sips of this pure wine being poured.
Don't mind that you've been given a dirty cup."


	Coleman Barks, 
	"These Branching Moments," 
	Copper Beech Press, 1988

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*A literal translation:

	This fledgling pigeon essayed the air and flew off when he
heard a whistle and a call from the unseen.
	When that Desire of all the world send a messenger saying,
"Come to Me," how should not the disciple's soul take flight?
	How should it not fly upwards on discovering such pinions,
how should it not rend the body's robe on the arrival of such a 
missive?
	What a moon it is that draws all these souls!  What a way is 
that secret way by which it drew!
	Divine compassion sent a letter saying, "Come back hither, for
in this narrow cage your soul has fluttered much.
	But in the house without doors you are like a bird without 
wings; so the fowl of the air does when it has fallen low.
	Restlessness opens to it the door of compassion at last; beat
your wings against door and roof -- this is the key.
	Until you call on Me, you do not know the way of returning
for by Our calling the way becomes manifest to the reason."
Whatever mounts up, if it be old it becomes new; whatever
new descends here, through time it becomes threadbare.
	Ho, strut proudly into the unseen, do not look back, in God's
protection, for there all is profit and increase.
	Ha, silent one, depart to the Saki of Being, who gave you His
pure wine in this sullied cup.


 "Mystical Poems of Rumi 1," A. J. Arberry,
The University of Chicago Press, 1968