Many lamps, one light

The poet Rumi once wrote of many lamps that shine one light ,

the forms and bodies vary though the same fire ignites

Each the manifestation of a single beating heart,

a source for the eternal, and the light that it imparts

Some become entranced though by the lamp over the flame,

a narrow view that relegates to truth a single name

So lost comparing vessels that the light is soon ignored,

sitting in the darkness whilst the symbol is adored

Caught up in the form whilst all the feeling is forgotten,

ornate and bejewelled though the wick has long past rotten

The message long discarded for the ink upon the page,

the inner flame that flickered gently now a spotlight on a stage

Don't mistake the signpost for the destination shown,

and without constant birth we speak the language of the bone

A futile task to try and snuff all others of their spark,

for there'll always be another striking matches in the dark