He called me once, many years ago:
I don’t know when it was exactly,
Maybe it was when I could see my own reflection in his hazel eyes.
Or perhaps, it was when I cloud hear his loving voice with no one in between.
I don’t remember when it was exactly,
That he called me “Janeh Janan”
Surly it was when he was younger and
I a child.
It was then that he called me:
And he read to me Molana’s story; A story none like it
It was then that his profound voice trembled
It was then that I saw him, as if for the first time;
With strong bones, stronger will and fiery eyes.
It was so far and yet so near. I saw him as if for the first time;
A man locked away from his wishes, struggling not to forget them.
I don’t remember when it was, Still his roar is with me:
“Hearken to the reed flute, how it complains, lamenting its banishment from its home”
I don’t remember when it was exactly!
He called me:
* Inspired by Nazy's invitation as an "uplifting exercise".
* I have shamelessly used the 800th birth anniversary of Molana (Rumi) just to recall the color of his eyes.