Namaz
There was a garden and a valley, steeped in moonlight.
The spirits of things were the same height as their shadows.
Staring at the horizon, at the secrets of night,
my eyes were open and the world asleep.
There was no sound but the sound of the night’s secrets
and water and a soft breeze and crickets —
and the voice of my wakeful wonder. (I was drunk, drunk.)
I rose and went
toward the stream — how the water
was rushing, coming.
Or was it leaving, as Hafez said, one’s life.
In the company of shame and rapture, I performed ablutions.
I was drunk, nameless, heedless of my hands and feet,
the moment clear and sweet.
I plucked a little leaf
from a nearby walnut sapling,
and my gaze traveled far.
The dew of the green embroidered carpet of the garden
had spread its prayer rug, too.
Qiblah was everywhere, wherever you were.
My drunken madness is conversing with you!
I am drunk and know I am alive.
You, the source of all existence, do you exist?
* * * *
[Notes: Namaz — Muslim prayer / Qiblah — direction Muslims face during prayer]