The poet admits that he’s a lifeless rock until the Divine rain creeps in and then the Spring Of Love & Poetry flows for others to quench

Asked he,

Where in the world
From do you write
Lines as the sun
Which shine bright

Wherefrom you collect
These pearls
Love with which
Our soul curls

Wherefrom you pluck
These roses
Perfumed which are
With His fragrance

Said Jaihoon,

These lines fine
Are never mine

Neither the blade
Nor the mine
Neither the Cup
Nor the Wine

I’m a lifeless rock
His rain creeps to break

And then the Spring
Of Love flows
The Breeze
Of poetry blows

The Rain and Spring
Are His
My Pen and Ink
Are His

Ask me not how or why
With thoughts so high I fly

My Source and its Code:
From His Gracious Abode!

Aug 27 2012. Edit Jan 03 22