I spent all day and all night in a barren garden.
The screeching of three crows kept song-birds
from perching on the solitary tree.
Later, the nightingale could not find me,
because no rose bush cast its scent into the cold air.
Across from me, for hours, sat a poor man,
with folded hands and bowed head.
His eyes looked nervously at the crows,
Later, they fixed on the absence of nightingales.
His shirt was torn, and he apologized twice, because he had drunk
all the wine and given his rubaab to another poor man.
But - the silence around us was a future music
we neither composed nor performed. We listened for hours.
And our thirst was more intoxicating than the most expensive wine.
I closed my Book, rested my head in my right hand,
and watched all day and all night
as his face became pearl and crystal and moon.
I don't remember the sun rising to summon me to prayer.
Everywhere I looked was gently shining light,
and when I finally knelt facing Mecca,
the prayer itself spoke me into heaven.
Daniel, you have been claiming the age of miracles is over.
Pay attention! When one happens, just rejoice!
Daniel Brick
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-a-barren-garden/
