A Poem from Rumi

Who Says Words With My Mouth?





All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and
what am I supposed to be doing?


I have no idea.


My soul is from elsewhere,
I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.


This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent,
sitting in this aviary.


The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear
who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?


Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.


If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord,
and I can't leave that way.


Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.


This poetry, I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

-Rumi