A Poem Rumi Forgot to Complete

"Was I just dreaming?"  Was he? His mother was repeatedly screaming over him– screaming and screaming, in that voice of hers. God, he wanted to shut her down but he was not his usual self in this dream– or maybe his usual self wasn’t him here. Who was he? He could barely pin anything down. She screamed and screamed at him to get out of bed, so he did. He got up and out of bed, and he stared at her. His mother went silent.  He went downstairs and ate breakfast, but as he sat eating, he realized that he had no idea who he was. He had no idea about his profession, age or anything. He didn’t even know his name.  It occurred to him that he might ask his mother who he was– but no. Somehow, he was sure that it would be no use, asking her. Then, a strange thought wriggled into his head.  He wanted to see her dead body.  The body he loved the most, but never touched. He knew he was in a dream but he also knew something else, in that strange dream-way– something more magi...

Screams in the Night He was losing his mind.  He had already lost it.  But that night, oh that cruel night! How could he forget that damn cruel nasty night!-- when he lost everything! His ego, his attitude, his life, his dreams, his parents– everything he worked for. Even his job.  Just because of that damn crow. Suddenly, this crow here before him became unattractive. Suddenly, crows were no longer his favorite. Suddenly, he lost the will– the determination to kill this crow. It would have brought him no satisfaction.  He was indecisive. For the first time in his life, he was indecisive. He wanted to kill that damn crow but at the same time, he wanted to protect it.  What exactly did he need?  He had no clue.  "Am I just being insane? Or the world has gone mad?"  Suddenly, a new urge– he needed to make a coffee. Yes, he needed to make a coffee. So he went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee, delicious and hot. But he was not going to drink it...

A world of blood and feathers It was a familiar figure.  He knew it– even from just its shadow, yes he knew it. How could he not know it?-- just as surely as he knew his own mind and heart. The true shape of himself. A mirror and a memory and all of his moments, back to his very childhood.  Oh, how he had always loved crows.  Everything about them– inside and out. Their tiny heads, perfectly round. Their eyes, flashing even in the darkness. Their beaks and their wings and their smooth bodies, like oil, like the fabric of the night sky with not even a single glittering star to ruin it. He'd spent years and years of his childhood playing with them. His one place of peace in the middle of all the rest of it. The nightmare. The mess. But there were the crows, and all of it was okay.  But now, at this moment, at this exact moment, when he had just killed her-- his soulmate, surely, she must have been-- he suddenly was not interested in crows anymore.  As though he’d ...

Shadows of the Soul Something new happened. Something that had never happened before– that he had never imagined happening before.  He wanted to kill someone.  For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill someone– it was the millionth wrong thing he’d ever wanted to do to someone else, but before this time, this day, it had never been death. He needed someone else’s death, now, suddenly, to bring him satisfaction.  For the millionth time in his life, the devil in him was winning. That was it, of course. It wasn’t him, not really him – the man, himself, he would never truly want to do a thing like that. Like any of these things. He was a good man, after all.  "It’s the devil, I am sure. It’s him . He makes me do these things," he sobbed. Into the mirror, so that he could see himself sobbing and be sure that he wasn’t evil.  Just as quickly, though, he turned on himself. "But the devil does not exist! Nothing exists!-- and nothing matters! I am the only one w...

Echoes of Torment  "Can I help you, darling?"  "How long it has been?" he muttered. She remained silent. "Now, you won't even answer me?"  "I didn't get your question." "Wasn't that simple enough? I asked how long it’s been?"  "You’ve known me for ten years, darling." "Did I ask that?” he screamed at her. “Don’t act all innocent!-- just tell me!!" "It has been three years." Her voice was as calm as pouring yoghurt.  "Go away."  So she went away. She wasn’t really necessary. He just enjoyed torturing her.  Who even was she? He didn’t remember, truth be told– or he just didn’t care to remember. What difference did it make, and who? But he recalled what it had been like. Chopping off her fingers.  Three years ago– just sitting there, minding her own business. He’d just pulled out a sharp knife, asked for her hands, and cut her fingers one by one– like that. Like he’d been prepping vegetab...