The found

O traveller under the blanket of night

Take little heed of your pitiful plight

Dark and wretched the path may be

Only by the light within will you see.

O seeker of the answers wise

Be wary of pride in disguise

The faults that down mansions are often small

So dwell in a place where there’s no further to fall.

O sailor of the tempestuous sea

Look how tenuous your life can be

Don’t you, with hands stretched heavenwards, implore

Only to forget on the safe lap of shore.

O wanderer of the distant lands

Your travels seem more aimless than drifting sands

Have you some secret that could only be

The traveller’s, the seeker’s, the sailor’s envy?

O lover of the Beloved unseen

More lost than the wanderer you seem

What can I, to this drunken soul, say

Which by losing itself has found the Way?

O Maker of worlds, most Divine

For these souls is this humble prayer of mine

Bless them; wake them up from their sobriety

Except for, as a lover himself said, let the lover be.