The spot where your hand lay still is warm.
Your words hang suspended in the air
where first they flew forth.
They resonate
but I cannot hear them.

Your wails of love and sorrow,
bittersweet intruders,
breathe forth
salty rivers and knowing smiles
on the faces of all who know your Touch,
but I cannot be reached.

A current of air whirls and twirls
around the Pillar,
incessantly carrying your song on its shoulders
just as you carried Shams in your heart,
but I cannot be moved.

your Absent Body,
Lord of White Figures
that forever dance to your song,
rules over beings imprisoned by the all-consuming whirlpool
of your departure.
But I cannot be your subject.

Concrete pillar,
Pillar of concrete,
twirling Air,
whirling Sufis,
Enlightened masses,
the very elements in motion,
all are places where you reside,
Transcendental,
throughout this curse called
Time.

But I remain empty,
feeling
Nothing but sorrow of a
Desire that now has a face
that lives in the name of

Rumi to the world,
Molana Jalaledin Mohammad Molavi Balkhi to your people.

~Explanation of symbolism, in case of questions, in comments.