Lines do not come from me
they do, through me, says Rumi*.
Yes I know we steal the tune
in every day and night to prune
with or without the witness of the stars
rises and falls, lies in our hearts
comes out as words, humming breeze
in seconds, as thousand memories
touch the leaves or the flute
as fruits flowing deep, from the roots.
Verses that give us a hand
mimicking the message of the Band.