The grapes of my body can only become wine
after the winemaker tramples me.
I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling
so my innermost heart can blaze and dance with joy.
Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing
‘I cannot bear any more anguish,
any more cruelty’
the trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: I am not working in ignorance.
You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse.
But it is I who am the Master of this Work.
And when through my Passion you reach perfection,
you will never be done praising my name.
~ Rumi
yogapoetics 
This is how it seems sometimes. Do you write any poems yourself?
Wow..what a powerful heartfelt poem..loved it:)
a vat of emotions stirred..nice work!
Very deep and motivating. Makes me think of an artist submitting to the craft itself out of respect.
Thanks for your reading, friends. And please note, this is Rumi’s craft, not mine…
Blessings.
The grapes of my body can only become wine
after the winemaker tramples me.
Love this line…great imagery and emotion, fantastic.
what delicious poem!
http://itistimetothinkformyself.blogspot.com/2010/07/jingles-july-follower-awards-happy-4th.html
Please pick 2 to 5 awards from the post.
Enjoy the fun!
Smiles!
Rumi moves me every time. So profound.
Ahh, the profound trust of: ignorance? what-ignorance? And what courage. And beinghereness. Little whisper in my ear: I am in whats I am, all the whats, always and through.