The gauge of a good poem is…the size of the love-bruise it leaves on your neck.
Or the size of the love-bruise on your brain.
Or the size of the love-lump it can weave into your soul.
Or, indeed, it could be all of the above, why not?
Run my dear,
That may not strengthen
Your precious budding wings.
Run like hell my dear,
From anyone likely
To put a sharp knife
Into the sacred, tender vision
Of your beautiful heart.
- حافظ Hafez (via indiene)
Need brings us together; that makes need sacred.
Love creates a synchronicity with what love loves.
It is the nature of this world to share its burden with you.
And it is my nature to remove it from your back.
Our sufferings will allow us to become greater than any world or deity.
Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife Into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart.
- Hafiz (via light-essence)
Do what most enables you to fly, and brings a feeling to the heart that makes you glad to be alive.
The Beloved and each moment are one.