The Oud Player in the Garden

The man with the oud played a lullaby tune
the man on the hill was blowing a horn
outside of the garden, the wind combed the dunes.
I sought my Beloved from darkness to morn.
Beloved was dancing amid fire and thorn
the cold-water moon pool reflected the blaze
that burned on my eyelids before I was born.
The oud player lulled me, oh hark how he plays...
the roses all whispered and gossiped for days:
“He passed. He was here. You missed Him.” I wept.
My Love had passed by; I was lost in the haze!
I missed Him. How is it He passed while I slept?
I blame the musicians; I tremble in tears.
The oud player said. “Now, be still. He is here.”

Visit the Sufi Poetry Carnival here on May 28th 2007.

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