A Sabbath Poem (Rumi - 2)

        DERVISH AT THE DOOR
        ~ by Jalaludin Rumi (1207-1273)

        A dervish* knocked at a house
        to ask for a piece of dry bread,
        or moist, it didn't matter.
        "This is not a bakery," said the owner.
        "Might you have a piece of gristle then?"
        "Does this look like butchershop?"
        "A little flour?"
        "Do you hear a grinding stone?"
        "Some water?"
        "This is not a well."
        Whatever the dervish asked for,
        the man made some tired joke
        and refused to give him anything.
        Finally the dervish ran into the house,
        lifted his robe, and squatted
        as though to relieve himself.

        "Hey, hey!"
        "Quiet, you sad man. A deserted place
        is a fine spot to relieve oneself,
        and since there's no living thing here,
        or means of living, it needs fertilizing."
        The dervish began his own list
        of questions and answers.
        "What kind of bird are you? Not a falcon,
        trained for a royal hand. Not a peacock,
        painted with everyone's eyes. Not a parrot,
        that talks for sugar cubes. Not a nightingale,
        that sings like someone in love.
        Not a hoopoe bringing messages to Solomon,
        or a stork that builds on a cliffside.
        What exactly do you do?
        You are no known species.
        You haggle and make jokes
        to keep what you own for yourself.
        You have forgotten the One
        who doesn't care about ownership,
        who doesn't try to turn a profit
        from every human exchange."

        *Dervishes were Sufi poets, whirling dancers, mystics of Islam 

(from Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks, HarperOne, 1997)