The Grapes of My Body
‘The grapes of my body can only become wine
After the winemaker tramples me
I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling
So my inmost heart can blaze & dance with joy
Although the grapes go on weeping blood & sobbing
“I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty!”
The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: “I am not working in ignorance.
You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse;
But it is I who am the Master of this work.
And when through my Passion you reach Perfection,
You will never be done praising my name.”
Rumi
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