EN DROPPE NÄRING

a new rule

it is the rule with drunkards to fall upon each other,
to quarrel, become violent, and make a scene.
the lover is even worse than a drunkard.
i will tell you what love is: to enter a mine of gold.
and what is that gold?

the lover is a king above all kings,
unafraid of death, not at all interested in a golden crown.
the dervish has a pearl concealed under his patched cloak.
why should he go begging door to door

last night that moon came along,
drunk, dropping clothes in the street.
"get up," i told my heart, "give the soul a glass of wine.
the moment has come to join the nightingale in the garden,
to taste sugar with the soul-parrot."

i have fallen, with my heart shattered -
where else but on your path? and I
broke your bowl, drunk, my idol, so drunk,
don't let me be harmed, take my hand.

a new rule, a new law has been born:
break all the glasses and fall toward the glassblower.