What does a 13th Century Persian/Afghanistani poet/philosopher mystic have to say to women who weren’t born yesterday?  One has only to come to the end of a mid-March week after the clocks were sprung an hour ahead and the light was struggling to imitate spring to understand.

We all get stagnant at times.  We are all in danger of believing what’s in the jug is the only water around.  Perhaps today’s Poetry Friday offering from the great old man himself might remind us otherwise.

— Laura Sillerman

Come!  Take a pickaxe
And break apart
Your stony self.
The heart’s matrix
is glutted with rubies.
Springs of laughter
are buried in your breast.
Unstop the wine jar
Batter down the door
to the treasury
of nonexistence.
The water in your jug
is brackish and low.
Smash the jug
and come to the river!

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