The Gypsy and Muhammad
i rest my philandering ways,
tired and worn,
old and torn,
tattered like a gypsy dog,
doggone days stretched and drawn.
will i be begging
all the way this way,
my green, green world?
stop me if you
have heard this before,
but i fell in love
with you the moment you
stepped thru that gypsy door.
thus you have made me,
undone and in pieces,
sprawled upon my caravan floor.
thus must you return me
and make me whole, my beauty,
to be the gypsy and his lore,
singing songs of you
as i once did before,
beneath the gyspy sky
and the gypsy stars,
a wanderer for Muhammad,
straying into the stray thoughts
of other travelers that
wander afar, lost in this
wonderous wilderness
of a gypsy heart.
We are all gypsies, I think. Trundling along the country roads and by-lanes of this world, trying to make our way without bothering people (too much), and avoiding the eyes of the authorities. The others who live in their structured and formal rites with God shall not truly understand us, just as we may not truly understand them.
But this world is large enough for everyone, yes? We gypsies seeking Love understand this well. But as one old dervish we met once counseled us - O' Gypsies! Beware of the man who has let his ego run rampant and wild. For it has grown so big that even this beautiful world of ours will not be big enough to sate the appetite of the selfish ego.
So at night, when the sky is overcast and no moon or stars shine their comforting light over our camps, we talk and share stories of our history, and of this prophet of God that the Arabians call Muhammad. For can you keep a secret? This man has visited our campfire and shared our bread!
Pax Taufiqa
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