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						When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi 
						
						When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb, should you come  to visit me, I will come forth with speed.  You are for me the blast of the trumpet and the resurrection,  so what shall I do? Dead or living, wherever you are, there am I.  Without your lip I am a frozen and silent reed; what melodies  I play the moment you breathe on my reed!  Your wretched reed has become accustomed to your sugar lip;  remember wretched me, for I am seeking you.  When I do not find the moon of your countenance, I bind up  my head [veil myself in your mourning]; when I do not find your  sweet lip, gnaw my own hand. 						 
						
						
						
						
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