Out beyond Rumi Avenue
And the bustle and noise
There lies a field
On the other side of here and there
That one must traverse
To get back home
This dangerous field
Encourages all to rest
To stop
To evade the bustle and noise
To stay where all are safe
Except those that know
The field of being
Beckons those few
Who smell the intoxicants
Who hear the sirens
Hiding in that field
Beyond Rumi Avenue
The field of being
Promises nothing
More than everything
If you don't stop
Until you get here
On this side of Rumi Avenue
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