All day I think about it,
then at night I say it.
"Where did I come from,
and what am I supposed to be doing?"
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere,
I'm sure of that.
This drunkenness
began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober.
Meanwhile, I'm like a bird
from another continent, siting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
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.
... Mevlana Rumi
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