Perhaps where it begins and ends should be as a meal
Perhaps the world is simply a meal punctuated by other events
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
Perhaps Poetry is as much the soul’s nourishment as Experience
Seven stars I saw, above that minaret
Unknown to unbelievers, till they finally set,
In slow and tortuous track with tightest harmony
Unfolding virtuously humanity’s regret.
Speak softly now, the crystal sphere’s ignominy
Shall last for but one day, and then recall us yet.
— Rajul ibn Mustafa
With weepinge we comen,
With weepinge we passen;
With drede we dwellen,
With drede we wenden.