Apple and Oranges

A true prophet never claims to be a prophet

And prophecy can come from the mouths of babes

A true Sufi never claims to be rich in insight

And sainthood can ooze from a vagabond

For all the talk on ascendance only one has escaped Goldilock's stomach

Even the cremated drip back in from rose petals at dawn

Even the lunch of vultures return in lumps of monochrome paint and cannot escape gravity

Whether scattered at sea or infused into a tree

There's none but one who have escaped Samsara

And that bodhisattva affirms Moksha not Nirvana

So eat of his flesh like an apple or banana

Munch on the shaman today to keep the abortionist away