My poetry is like Egyptian bread;
You cannot eat it, if it is a night old.
Eat it when it is still fresh-
Before the dust [of time] settles on it!
The warm land of the mind is its abode
In this world, it dies of cold.
Like fish, it can live on land but for a moment;
The next, you will see it devoid of life's warmth.
Mevlana Jalaludin Rumi
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