then at night I say it.

Where did I come from,

and what am I supposed to be doing?

I have no idea.

My soul is from elsewhere,

I'm sure of that,

and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.

When I get back around to that place,

I'll be completely sober.

Meanwhile,

I'm like a bird from another continent,

sitting in this aviary.

The day is coming when I fly off,

but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?

Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes?

What is the soul?

I cannot stop asking.

If I could taste one sip of an answer,

I could break out of this prison for drunks.

I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.

Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

This poetry.

I never know what I'm going to say.

I don't plan it.

When I'm outside the saying of it,

I get very quiet

and rarely speak at all.

-Rumi

translated by Coleman Barks 

morning has broken

like the first morning

blackbird has spoken

like the first bird

praise for the singing

praise for the morning

praise for them springing

fresh from the world

sweet the rain's new fall

sunlit from heaven

like the first dewfall

on the first grass

praise for the sweetness

of the wet garden

sprung in completeness

where his feet pass

mine is the sunlight

mine is the morning

born of the one light

eden saw play

praise with elation

praise every morning

god's recreation

of the new day

-cat stevens