Blame

I have never been a big fan of poetry, or fiction for that matter. I just didn't "get" it. I always strongly prefered non-fiction. I mean, what higher purpose could one possibly persue than the accumulation of factual knowledge ????? Song lyrics, maybe ok, if the melody, harmonies and rythym were pleasing to me; but poetry? as in those esoteric old farts talking oddities? NO! no way, whatso ever!

However, in the past couple years, I've run up upon, and fallen in love with, some authors who repeatedly quote certain poets. And with that opening, I've begun to notice poets, and remember a few that caught my mind's attention long long ago.

And now, long story short, I browsed a bookstore today and ended up buying 4 books of poetry, to go with the one, that I bought last week! :D
(ha ha AND btw, I had to ask for directions to the poetry section! How pitiful is that?)

Well, anyway, as I flipped through The Gift, Poems by Hafiz, The Great Sufi Master, (translation by Daniel Ladinsky), the book fell open to page 117....
I couldn't help but think of hubby and how perfectly this poem fit with my post from earlier today.

THE SAD GAME

Blame

Keeps the sad game going.

It keeps stealing all your wealth ---

Giving it to an imbicile with

No financial skills.

Dear one,

Wise

Up.

crystal clear

dear husband,

some things have become crystal clear to me.

i, with my desires, my yearning and burning,
my headful of crazy ideas and lifetime of incomplete projects,
i am not the amusing freak that you believe.
in fact you couldn't be further from the truth.

you are damaged, deluded, repressed, and wasting away.
me, i've been there, done that; such things no longer draw me in.

my effort, my struggling, this constant motion has finally paid a dividend.
and i have grown.

we were not given life, breath, intellect or heart, in order to hibernate our way through this earthly existence
or even to tread water.

oh well,
you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.
so be it.

yours truly,
songbird