We are the rain that falls upon
a leaky roof
Let us miss the holes
and fall smoothly down the spout.
We are crooked bows
with strings that run from our head to our toes;
Soon we will be straight,
like an arrow in flight.
We are surrounded by the forms
of a formless creator.
Enough with these forms!
Let us go to the Formless One.
There is no escape from pain for one in exile;
There is no escape from dust
for one who lives in a dust bowl.
Let us be like the birds of paradise,
that fly about drinking sweet water.