.
The hurt you embrace becomes joy.
Call it to your arms where it can
.
change. A silkworm eating leaves
makes a cocoon. Each of us weaves
.
a chamber of leaves and sticks.
Silkworms begin to truly exist
.
as they disappear inside that room.
Without legs, we fly. When I stop
.
speaking, this poem will close,
and open its silent wings...
.
~ Rumi
.