I Love The Poetry Of Rumi

One night a fire broke out on a cane field.
it burned every thing like a love that occupied a soul.
once the fire began to do its business.
every cane became its own grave's candle.
cane told the fire: what's this frenzy?
what's your intention from burning me?
the fire said: I didn't do this for nothing.
I burned your meaningless claim.
as you were used to say: I'm the one with hundred forms
you were left in your bonds.
it would be better if you have some discomfort.
The only cure for impassiveness is fire.

The translation's a bit dodgy, but I will try to do a better job next time.