The Shirt of Blame
This shirt of blame that I'm wearing,
I chose it for myself.
The empty bottle of self-importance
has melted down to glass -- ahh, what does it matter? --
has melted down to glass.
I was lifted beyond the known world
to a place from which to see.
When I came back to this soil,
the whole world looked at me -- ahh, what does it matter? --
the whole world looked at me.
There's a rain that is falling
on the garden of the soul,
and the bushes that will grow there
yield roses as well as thorns -- ahh, what does it matter? --
yield roses as well as thorns.
Some are praying in the churches,
others prostrate in the mosques.
The only prayer that I offer
is at the threshold of my love -- ahh, what does it matter? --
at the threshold of my love.
Are you happy with your Beloved?
People often want to know.
If I'm happy or I suffer,
my Beloved is still mine -- ahh, what does it matter? --
my Beloved is still mine.
The wine of love has been forbidden
by those who never loved.
But I pour it and I drink it,
this love is all I know -- ahh, what does it matter? --
this love is all I know.