Rumi Traceless
Is anything as nameless as the God
We wish that we could worship? Voiceless, we
Are like an atheistic angel squad
Mosaicked up on an infinitely
High chanting ceiling, where the only light
Is from the hanging candle lamps of void.
The tinniness of beams down from that height
Is quiet. In fact, it is unalloyed
Silence produced to shine on altar cloth
Meaninglessly. We use our intellects
To overcome, but we are like a moth
Which worships a fiction moon, then defects.
..But still we flutter. Our wings want to shine
….With joy from the anonymous divine.