You should not judge Your happiness might be your penis The emptiness, nothingness it’s me I’m the owner of void on darkness’s edge Just never ending paces of mourning for the life And life seems desert so quest is only death What my lines are in this fatal misery The lines crossed the mystery Of what’s inside universal mind Of what’s in seven skies Of what’s in Caesar's hand, and Plato's brain, Of what's Lord Christ's heart, and Shakespeare’s strain Of what’s in sun when it dawns to man Of what’s on the spell of moon Of what’s within secretive absence of the beloved Of what’s in Rumi’s Silence mysterious silence and love Of what’s in numberless births of stars in constellations