I put a cloak over my head,
so no one would see me taking shelter from the rain.
So many times,
I have claimed that I need nothing more.
I show people that I am happy with little.
Didn't I throw my jug
at the dreamy head of a passerby?
“Wake up!”
I told him.
“Don’t seek adornments,
for nature has endowed you with everything needed
to thrive in soulful grandeur.
Look at this child drinking water from the fountain,
cupping his hands.”

Raindrops slap against the barrel,
I hear them deepen in their descent.
I wish I could divert them
from the bark of the earth,
where they’ll trickle into the crowd,
toward my philosophy,
which would underscore the purity they bring from the clouds.
A thirsty letter swallowed them swiftly.
I, too, shall be ingested by damp pages,
and, over centuries,
oh! my doctrine will solidify in libraries,
toppling shelves, and,
without the confinements of iron and wood,
will return once again to the clear streets of the city,
among the citizens.

I feel like a mere drop myself,
in relation to God and the cosmos.
How much light must I reflect
to be noticed by the most oblivious angel?
Where can I find light,
on such a rainy day?
Perhaps from thought,
there I draw closer, with true steps,
to a heaven without envious people.

I’ll turn the barrel, its opening toward the sky,
like an eye,
whose tears the rains will be, in torrents.