The hurt you embrace
becomes joy.
Call it to your arms
where it can change.
A silkworm eating leaves
makes a cocoon.
Each of us weaves a chamber
of leaves and sticks.
Silkworms begin to truly exist
as they disappear inside that room.
Without legs, we fly.
When I stop speaking,
this poem will close,
and open its silent wings...
-- Rumi
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