Poem: The Guest

This being human is a guest house -Rumi

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I threw open wide the door and every window Hung out a sign: “Guest House. All Are Welcome” And they came in unbroken procession, Tapping my shoulder, hoping for a conversation Or at least a glance, a nod of recognition. I did not speak, though well acquainted with them all. I watched the door, waiting for the guest of honour I sat and waited, waited only for you.

You arrive as one coming home, familiar with this place No fanfare, no red carpet, you simply take a seat Across the table from the place where I have waited. And I look, over the flowers I gathered for you And see myself, looking at the flowers I gathered for me.

I build another door that all the guests might come and freely go But I remain, in this house, the guest of honour.

— India Taylor

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