My soul is from elsewhere,
I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began
in some other tavern.
When I get back around
to that place, I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another
continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear,
who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip
of an answer, I could break out
of this prison for drunks.

I didn't come here of my own accord,
and I can't leave that way.

Whoever brought me here
will have to take me home.

Rumi