try to praise the mutilated world

travel light



to praise

the mutilated world.

Remember June’s long days,

and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.

The nettles that methodically overgrow

the abandoned homesteads

of exiles.



must praise

the mutilated world.

You watched the stylish yachts

and ships;
 one of them had a long trip

ahead of it,
 while salty oblivion awaited others.

You’ve seen the refugees going nowhere,

you’ve heard the executioners

sing joyfully.



should praise

the mutilated world.

Remember the moments when

we were together 
in a white room and

the curtain fluttered.
 Return in thought to

the concert where music flared.

gathered acorns in the park in

and leaves eddied

over the earth’s




the mutilated world

and the gray feather a thrush lost,

and the gentle light that strays

and vanishes



Adam Zagajewski


remember you are inside the presence


Whatever state you’re in,

remember you are inside the presence.

Out looking for pleasure, there especially —

I have found no delight better than the mix of touch

with love. That taste is the sweetest. When you are tranced

in that, recall who gave you these pleasurable forms and

inclinations. Even when having a brain seizure,

remember how earthquake energy pries

apart mountains and zigzags a stone

wall. Let that core-energy break

your convulsion.


When you’re afraid

of a certain man in power, of some

authority binding you, in these anxieties,

as well as in prostration prayer,

taste the presence.


Bahauddin, father of Rumi

The Drowned Book