The Moth

I was on my way
one Saturday,
The sun had fallen,
And the lights were drawing me
towards the flame.

As I drew closer
I heard the ney,
Its song woeful,
Singing of its separation from the bed of reeds of which it came.

Although I did not understand its plight,
I kept following the light,
It brought me into a room of men,
And women seated on the floor,
Dancing to the beats of the drum.

The beat was up,
And so was I,
flying high
towards the lights.
But these lights were not as that of the sun
I was looking for a special one,

And then I saw what I was looking for
The glare of the watch,
its bright reflection called my name
And I landed on the owners arm,
His eyes widened as he stared at me,
And welcomed my company that night.

He saw in me the light,
As my bright white wings fluttered
And when I noticed that there were others,
I flew off the watch,
And said goodbye,
Left through the window from whence I came
To take my light to the woods were all paths meet.

I am the moth that burned in the flame,
Although I still live,
The light for which I seek is a mere illusion,
A reflection of the Beloved.

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