Awaken! Awaken!
The night has passed awaken!
Disgusted! Disgusted!
With your Self be disgusted!
In our Egypt today 
A moron is selling the Joseph [1]
Believe me not!
Go to bazaar and see with your own eyes.
The Nonpareil One leaves you no choice
Blooming the rose upon your face [2]
Pulling the thorns out of your hands
Then rush towards the gardens rushed.
Heed not to every deception and delusion
Why cleansing blood with spilled blood [3]
Thus be fallen like a crystal goblet
Shattered be, lowly and destitute.
Upon the round swing of its Polo mallet
Be the ball! Be the ball!
Because of arrows in its quiver
Roll over dead! Roll over dead! [4]
There came the call sounding the heavens
Then came the healer for all lovers
Yearning for It to come to you?
Become ill! Become ill! [5]
Likeness of a cave is this bosom
Private chambers of Beloved
If you are the companion of the cave [6]
Rush into! Rush into!
You are a fine but naïve man
Offering the gold to a thief
Want to recognize the robbers?
Be a bandit! Be a bandit! [7]
Silent is the description of this sea
Buoy wordless within Its ocean [8]
Want to learn how to dive the depth?
Grow fins! Grow fins!

Rains upon the streets of Port Au Prince, the iridescent sable pearls of Paradise. Streets that follow like a tedious argument [9], but this day glitters like a majestic throne, embroidered by the child slave’s tearless eyes. Pearls strewn by the meandering walkways of Cite Soleil, the regal necklace entrusted to the treasury of Heavens.  
Awaken! Awaken! That the Sultan of Love at a moment’s notice shall demand pearls of this necklace, though foolishly you thought no account was kept and reckoning never.
Alas this day! The moron sold the pearls for few worthless coins, like the Joseph in Pharaoh’s Egypt. And if you believe me not, look upon the mirrors of their faces. A moment manufactured by distant relics of millions of silent Creole moans, thunders sounding the Heavens and skies of Haiti welded together without joints but by the child slave’s gazes upon the Beloved: The Sultan presiding upon every shattered heart…
An ocean filled with copious pearls, bijouterie sufficing a thousand imperial thrones. And I am tormented upon the smoldering flames of amnesia, my screams in depth of migraine-dusted dreams shattering the crystal goblet brimful with the false-panacea of my Self, the poison sufficing the murder of a thousand nations.
I ride the dolphins of Haitian slave’s eyes diving the depth of that shore-less sea, the sanctuary for all wordless love exchanges, that I might die this day and for the last time forgotten and my last breath this scream:
Arc of your eyebrow
Bow to my violent arrow
Ripping devil’s heart apart
Potent ruse fallen
Scribbling pen the arrow
Triumphant archer
Obliterating battles
Goliath slaughtered
Unbreakable chains
Enslaving this David
Blackness of your svelte arms
Emancipating bondage
Let this hawk
Fly fast
Fly high
Nesting at the lofty corners
Of your Asian-Caribbean eyes
Shangri-la High

Let this dolphin
Dive fast
Dive deep
Drowning in vexed waves
Of your deadened eyes
Atlantis at dusk
[1] Prophet Joseph was saved from the well where his brothers abandoned him. And then he was sold as a slave for a little bit of money. This was one of the greatest prophets of Allah, the future king of Egypt that saved the lives of millions of people from famine, and was sold for few little coins. Koran [12:20] :
“The (Brethren) sold him for a miserable price, for a few dirhams (coins) counted out: in such low estimation did they hold him!”
“In our Egypt today” means in our life now and the moron is ourselves. This moron selling the Joseph i.e. the jewel deep within our essence capable of loving the Creator, for few coins sold as a slave to the Self. Rumi says if you do not believe me go check it out in the market i.e. look at yourself.
[2] The "Nonpareil One" is the God and it makes decisions for us seemingly leaving no choices for us and often this makes us angry and our faces become red like a rose. Rumi says this is like Beloved removing the thorns of this rose out of hands prior to us reaching the final garden.
So the anger is the pain of pulling the thorns out of your hands, your own thorns, so that you will be prepared to go into Gardens of Eden thorn-less.
[3] Don’t be fooled by wars and other acts of violence and corruption. If you are fooled and attack back, then it is like washing blood with blood nothing will be cleansed. It is better to be shattered like the goblet that could hold the blood, but instead be empty and throw yourself lowly on the ground and endure the pain to shatter. If you are shattered you can no hold hate within.
[4] This world is like a Polo player. It hits you with its mallet then be a round ball and shoot far far away from it!!! It has arrows looking for a game to hunt, then drop dead so it will not hit you with arrows.
[5] Get sick with ailment of heartache so the healer of hearts has a reason to come to you. If you do not have Its pain in your heart, frolic with Self and loving this world, then there is no reason for the healer to come you.
[6] The companion of the cave is from Koran[9:40] referring to Abu-Bakr the Companion of the Prophet. When the Prophet escaped Makkah from the tyranny of pagan Arabs towards Madina, Abu-Bakr was with him. And there was a moment they were almost captured. But the Prophet led him to the cave and said to him ‘fear not! Allah is with us’. The spiders rushed to the door of the cave and spread it with their webs so that the pagans did not enter the cave thinking no way someone could go in living the webs undisturbed.
This heart of ours is like that cave, where the Beloved can be found soothing us consoling us and healing us. So like Abu-Bakr then go rushing into this cave.
[7] Deep within our essence we are innocent and naïve. Therefore our Self the thief fools us and our essence innocently gives into this thief. We lose our innocence, truthfulness, and kindness… Rumi says if you do not wish to be cheated by this thief you need to know your Self and think like this thief so you will not give up the jewels of the essence.
[8] Words describe our experiences. Words are not those experiences! Just a script empowering others vicariously to share our experiences. There are some experiences between the creation and the Creator, which are impossible to fully explicate in words. Perhaps partial renditions like these poems of Rumi but the complete experience is like an ocean. There are no words! No one says anything. Be a fish, grow fins and swim to the depth of this sea silently.
[9] T.S.Eliot

Background: Haitian Child Slavery :

To survive, young forced into servitude
23 novembre 2003
The Seattle Times
To survive, young forced into servitude

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti - Describing the beating that drove her to the
streets, Madeleine Vilma spoke as if she deserved it. "I made them mad at
me," the skinny 15-year-old recalls of the two women who had paid a pittance
for her six years ago and then put her to work as a maid. "I broke the heel
off my shoe, so they beat me with their sandals."

Dispatched to the slums of the Haitian capital when she was 9 by parents
unable to feed her, Madeleine had been delivered by a trader into a life of
unpaid domestic servitude in exchange for food and shelter. Like an
estimated 300,000 other children in this poorest of Western countries, she
had no alternative except homelessness and hunger.

The children, called "restaveks" - from the French "rester avec," to stay
with - are not servants of the wealthy but of those just slightly less poor
than the parents who sent them here.

As Haiti slips further into extreme poverty each year, the wave of
children - some as young as 4 - flocking to the cities has become a deluge,
forcing most to settle for whatever offer of shelter is at hand. Children
who are not brokered go door-to-door looking for a place to stay.

"Most of these patrons want someone they can have do anything they need done
without the conditions that come with employing an adult domestic," said the
Rev. Pierre St. Vistal, who runs a mission that houses 45 children and feeds
hundreds of others. "With kids, there are no limits. They have no rights and
can be made to do anything."

Restaveks first appeared in the capital in the 1920s and '30s, when wealthy
families, as "an act of solidarity" with the rural poor, offered shelter and
education in exchange for domestic labor.

But as the gap between rich and poor widened drastically in recent decades,
ragged children coming from the countryside became so numerous that they
were forced to work for anyone able to make the daily pot of beans and rice
go one mouth further.

"The wealthy families don't want to get involved anymore. They say this is a
form of slavery, and they don't want to be associated with it," says Wenes
Jeanty, who runs a charity that helps the children. "That has left the
children to the poor and less educated in the cities."

For most restaveks growing up far away from their families, there is no
caring soul to help them.

"The households that take these kids in see them as chattel," says Merrie
Archer, director of human-rights programs for the National Coalition for
Haitian Rights.

"Often their own parents see them as chattel, as a means of getting support
for themselves once the kids get work in the city."

Few ever escape their indentured servitude to find paying jobs.

People trying to help Haiti's enslaved children scoff at the government's
claims that it is addressing the problem. "There has been a law against
child labor for years, but it has never been enforced," says Jean Lherisson,
head of Haiti Solidarity International.

Carol J. Williams, Los Angeles Times

© 2003-2002,  Dara Shayda