There is an idea that by stealing a poet's pen
He will no longer be able to write
Should you take away the canvas and brush
A painter will lose his artistic acumen
By preventing sleep, day never turns night
By abstaining from love one will never lust
But there is a beast within, and it hungers
It never surrenders to the moment at hand
With no distinction between need and want
And it never knows when the time is right
It exists and it cannot be made silent
Lingering within us, it burns, it haunts
It will speak
Even as every voice has been made quiet
"Don't be satisfied with the stories, how things have
gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” Rumi
