Do Not Be Consumed By Grief

Joseph who has lost his way is coming again to Canaan, do not be consumed by grief;
Melancholy hovels will become a rose garden one day, do not be consumed by grief.

O grief-stricken heart, you will get better, do not do evil,
And this confused head will come again to order, do not be consumed by grief.

If it is the springtime of life again on the throne of a field,
Seek shelter under a rose, O well-intentioned bird, do not be consumed by grief.

The turning of the heavens turns and has not abandoned our longings for a day;
the state of the revolutions is not always the same, do not be consumed by grief.

Take care that you do not become hopeless when you are not aware of the secrets of the absent;
There are within the veil hidden dealings, do not be consumed with grief.

O heart, if the flood of the annihilation of the foundations of being swells up,
do not be consumed by grief since Noah is your ship's captain in the typhoon.

If you would set foot in the desert fueled by longing for the ka'aba,
if the Arabian thorns rebuke you, do not be consumed by grief.

Even if the home become fraught with danger and what is desired be far away,
there is no road without an end do not be consumed by grief.

Our state is characterized by the separation of dear ones and the certainty of adversity;
in all God knows the state of the heavens, do not be concerned with grief.

O Hafez, dim nights in an impoverished and desolate corner,
as long as the prayers are recited and the Qur'an is studied do not be consumed by grief.

Two Poems by Elizabeth A. Schultz Oread MM, Lawrence KS Konza Prairie September 15, 2001 The prairie swept me away, wave upon wave Of green, rising and falling in the mist. I paused, spindrift on a limestone crest, To let the prairie float me, dissolved, Out to the distant edge, then dash me back To this hard point, where sky and land Conspired to pin me under a glare of silence In the turning and aching world, permitting me At last to descend into a trough of flowers.    Coil pots, hand-built and carved by Janet Lowe, Central Philadelphia (PA) MM. Photo by John Carlano. Meanwhile In Sarajevo's Sniper Alley, He took his seat at dusk, The cello set before him. Embracing it like a lover, He played by heart, music Slipping through crevices Of walls and souls. In Cambodia's killing fields, She was beaten for insolence, Murmuring a song of nostalgia And swinging her machete, Like a golden scepter. Afterwards as bodies filled Ditches, she danced in her Dreams: Remembering how Lovely Queen Neang Seda, Held captive by ogres, Terrorized by fire, Swiveled on one foot, Holding truth and beauty Aloft in her arms Like a chalice. In Palestine's Ramallah, Mothers send their children Down the dusty road to school; In Jerusalem, wives kiss Their husbands farewell As they hop the bus to work. On the flaming towers of Troy, Andromacha held Her giggling baby boy Up to the sky For all to see.