What kind of food, what kind of drink?

Came across this by Hafiz yesterday..few manage to change my perspective on life in so few words.

A Cushion For Your Head

Just sit there right now
Don't do a thing
Just rest.

For you separation from God,
From love,

Is the hardest work
In this
World.

Let me bring you trays of food
And something
That you like to
Drink.

You can use my soft words
As a cushion
For your
Head.

After I read this I asked myself, what kind of food am I given to weather this beautiful disaster? What kind of drink? They are such small, tiny things, a beautiful dream or an instance of precognition, a song that speaks to me in Motherese, words that heal wounds, but more than anything else, the chance to help someone retrieve the soul's inscrutable radiance, the flavor of life, because under these conditions, the home sick soul often finds a camp somewhere between this world and another, and our poverty doubles.