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.
Jalaluddin Rumi
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