There are places I want to see before I die. They say America is the land of the free. I want to go to a "restricted" land just to see.
Percolating, alert and awake
Waking up those who are tired
Of the same old grind
Come Rumi, Hafiz, the Alevi Bektaci, the Alowites
How do they manage this sleight of hand
Like a magic parlor manifestation?
Rising over the virus of a war manifesto
Spinning, dancing over smoldering graves
They eliminate the fetid stench of
Bad ideas and the travesty of the law
And carry forth in the beauty of new life
Radiant as an Emerald Earth
Not afraid to let go of the unspeakable
Singing in new verse, with new music.
What gives rise to these souls
In a land that shuns all things
Not found in a book not many can read?
Is this fertilizer that creates the mind of free thinkers?
Mystic and free--not because of restriction--
But in spite of it?
Unable to reconcile their poetic songs
With the constricted pages of one book,
They separate out like sweet cream