Poem for Ramadan

 Fasting

 

Rumi, Ghazal 1739, translated by Bahreinian & Helminski

 

 

There’s sweetness hidden in this empty belly.

The human is like a musical instrument, no more no less.

 

If the belly of a lute were stuffed with food

would any melodies, either high or low, be possible?

 

But when your belly and brain are burning in Ramadan,

with every breath a song arises in your chest.

 

A thousand veils are burned away with every breath

and you race up the stairs in front of you, level upon level, effortlessly.

 

Empty your stomach and in your need cry out like the ney.

Empty your stomach and secrets will flow from your pen.

 

If you’re constantly filling up your stomach, come the Resurrection

an idol occupies your Kaaba, a shaytan in place of a mind.

 

But from fasting, good qualities rush to support you,

helpers of all kinds, nourishers, dependable friends.

 

Fasting is the magical seal of Solomon.

Don’t give that seal to a demon, don’t destroy your homeland.

 

But if you seem to have lost the battle and your army has fled,

an army will regroup around the flag of Ramadan.

 

A holy feast descends from the sky for the people of fasting,

like a sacrament at the table of Jesus, son of Mary.

 

In fasting, take a seat at the Table of Generosity--

that plentiful table, better than the broth of cabbages.