Bird of Paradise

Everyday I meditate upon this, and every night I groan
Why is my own existence to myself the least known?

Whence have I come, why this coming here?
Where to must I go, when will my home to me be shown?

I am in desperate awe, why was I ever created?
For this, my creation, whatsoever was the reason?

Whatever is of the celestial realm, of that I speak
I am ready to go, my clothes are packed to be away thrown ...

Mevlavi