A Thousand Needles Of Joy

From a broken instrument, from the most raucous sound,

You play the finest music.

You flood the river of my heart with the storm of your being,

And on the quiet plane of my mind, you dance your eternal dance,

Sometimes, I see you in a temple, in the eyes of the lost,

But it’s nothing compared to when you move in my head,

Above and around, within and without, the ever graceful dancer,

Every tap of your feet equals, a thousand needles of joy,

I’m the audience and also the stage, on which you perform,

I’m awestruck, incapable, powerless; your grandeur is sheer bliss.

The Song of the Sufi Masrooof