The field

Travelling a thousand miles, my soul yearns to lie down,

Lie down, beneath the starry sky, with the grass rustling our ears

Lie down in Rumi’s field, far away from that mechanical town.

Beyond right or wrong, beyond bindings, we finally shed our frowns.

 

The soul is light, it gently floats here,

In this paradise beyond judgement,

Away from hate, away from plight,

away from inhibitions, away from fear.

 

Beyond the concept of money and forced roles,

The cool air will heal your souls.

Here, the lord and the peasant dine together,

United by love, freedom, grass, lakes, doves and the blessed weather.