The Source of Joy

The Source of Joy 

No one knows what makes the soul wake up

 so happy! Maybe a dawn breeze 

has blown the veil from the face of God.

A thousand new moons appear. 

Roses open laughing. 

Hearts become perfect rubies

 like those from Badakshan.

The body turns entirely spirit.

 Leaves become branches in this wind.

Why is it now so easy to surrender, 

even for those already surrendered?

There’s no answer to any of this. 

No one knows the source of joy.

A poet breathes into a reed flute, 

and the tip of every hair makes music.

Shams sails down clods of dirt from the roof, 

and we take jobs as doorkeepers for him. 

From The Book of Love 

Translated by Coleman Barks

You Wreck My Shop

You Wreck My Shop

You wreck my shop and my house and now my heart,

 but how can I run from what gives me life?

I’m weary of personal worrying, in love 

with the art of madness! Tear open my shame

and show the mystery. How much longer 

do I have to fret with self-restraint and fear?

Friends, this is how it is: we are fringe

 sewn inside the lining of a robe. Soon

we’ll be loosened, the binding threads torn out. 

The beloved is a lion. 

We’re the lame deer in his paws. 

Consider what choices we have!

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

Escaping To The Forest

Escaping To The Forest 

Some souls have gotten free of their bodies.

 Do you see them? Open your eyes for those

 who escape to meet with other escapees,

whose hearts associate in a way they have 

of leaving their false selves

 to live in a truer self.

I don’t mind if my companions 

wander away for a while.

They will come back like a smiling drunk. 

The thirsty ones die of their thirst.

The nightingale sometimes flies from a garden

 to sing in the forest.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

Our Death Is Our Wedding With Eternity

Our Death Is Our Wedding With Eternity

Our death is our wedding with eternity.

What is the secret? "God is One."

The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.

This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;

It is not in the juice made from the grapes.

For he who is living in the Light of God,

The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.

Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,

For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.

Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,

So that he may place another look in your eyes.

It is in the vision of the physical eyes

That no invisible or secret thing exists.

But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God

What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?

Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light

Don't call all these lights "the Light of God";

It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,

The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.

...Oh God who gives the grace of vision!

The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.

From http://www.khamush.com/poems.html#9

The True Sufi

The True Sufi

What makes the Sufi? Purity of heart;
Not the patched mantle and the lust perverse
Of those vile earth-bound men who steal his name.
He in all dregs discerns the essence pure:
In hardship ease, in tribulation joy.
The phantom sentries, who with batons drawn
Guard Beauty's place-gate and curtained bower,
Give way before him, unafraid he passes,
And showing the King's arrow, enters in.

From Persian Poems

Edited by A.J.Arberry

A New Rule

A New Rule

It is the rule with drunkards to fall upon each other,
to quarrel, become violent, and make a scene.
The lover is even worse than a drunkard.
I will tell you what love is: to enter a mine of gold.
And what is that gold?

The lover is a king above all kings,
unafraid of death, not at all interested in a golden crown.
The dervish has a pearl concealed under his patched cloak.
Why should he go begging door to door?
Last night that moon came along,
drunk, dropping clothes in the street.
"Get up," I told my heart, "Give the soul a glass of wine.
The moment has come to join the nightingale in the garden,
to taste sugar with the soul-parrot."


I have fallen, with my heart shattered -
where else but on your path? And I
broke your bowl, drunk, my idol, so drunk,
don't let me be harmed, take my hand.
A new rule, a new law has been born:
break all the glasses and fall toward the glassblower.

From Love Is A Stranger

by Kabir Helminski

The Awakening

The Awakening 

In the early dawn of happiness
you gave me three kisses
so that I would wake up
to this moment of love

I tried to remember in my heart
what I’d dreamt about
during the night
before I became aware
of this moving
of life

I found my dreams
but the moon took me away
It lifted me up to the firmament
and suspended me there
I saw how my heart had fallen
on your path
singing a song

Between my love and my heart
things were happening which
slowly slowly
made me recall everything

You amuse me with your touch
although I can’t see your hands.
You have kissed me with tenderness
although I haven’t seen your lips
You are hidden from me.

But it is you who keeps me alive

Perhaps the time will come
when you will tire of kisses
I shall be happy
even for insults from you
I only ask that you
keep some attention on me.

From The Love Poems of Rumi

by Deepak Chopra (Editor)

The Ship Sunk In Love

The Ship Sunk In Love

Should Love's heart rejoice unless I burn?
For my heart is Love's dwelling.
If You will burn Your house, burn it, Love!
Who will say, 'It's not allowed'?
Burn this house thoroughly!
The lover's house improves with fire.
From now on I will make burning my aim,
From now on I will make burning my aim,
for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.
Abandon sleep tonight; traverse fro one night
the region of the sleepless.
Look upon these lovers who have become distraught
and like moths have died in union with the One Beloved.
Look upon this ship of God's creatures
and see how it is sunk in Love.

From The Rumi Collection, 

Edited by Kabir Helminski

Stay Close, My Heart

Stay Close, My Heart

Stay close, my heart, to the one who knows your ways;
Come into the shade of the tree that allays has fresh flowers.
Don't stroll idly through the bazaar of the perfume-markers:
Stay in the shop of the sugar-seller.
If you don't find true balance, anyone can deceive you;
Anyone can trick out of a thing of straw,
And make you take it for gold
Don't squat with a bowl before every boiling pot;
In each pot on the fire you find very different things.
Not all sugarcanes have sugar, not all abysses a peak;
Not all eyes possess vision, not every sea is full of pearls.
O nightingale, with your voice of dark honey! Go on lamenting!
Only your drunken ecstasy can pierce the rock's hard heart!
Surrender yourself, and if you cannot be welcomes by the Friend,
Know that you are rebelling inwardly like a thread
That doesn't want to go through the needle's eye!
The awakened heart is a lamp; protect it by the him of your robe!
Hurry and get out of this wind, for the weather is bad.
And when you've left this storm, you will come to a fountain;
You'll find a Friend there who will always nourish your soul.
And with your soul always green, you'll grow into a tall tree
Flowering always with sweet light-fruit, whose growth is interior.

Translated by

Andrew Harvey

On Resurrection Day

On Resurrection Day 

On Resurrection Day
God will say,
"What did you do
with the strength and the energy
that your food gave you
on Earth?
How did you use your eyes?
What did you make with your five senses
while they were dimming and playing out?
I gave you hands and feet as tools
for preparing the ground for planting.
Did you, in the health I gave,
do the plowing?"
You will not be able to stand
when you hear those questions.
You will bend double with shame,
and finally acknowledge the glory.

Then you will turn to the right looking to the prophets
for help, as though to say,
I am stuck in the mud of my life.
Help me out of this!

And they will answer,
those kings,
"The time for helping is past.
The plow stands there in the field.
You should have used it."
Then you will turn to the left,
where your family is,
and they will say,
"Don't look at us!
This conversation is between you
and your creator!"

From One-Handed Basket Weaving 

Translated by Coleman Barks

If A Blow Comes To You From Heaven

If A Blow Comes To You From Heaven

If a blow comes to you from Heaven,
be alert to a gift of honor after it;
for He is not the King to slap you
without giving you a crown
and a throne on which to rest.
The whole world is worth only a gnat's wing,
but a single slap may bring an infinite reward.
Slip your neck nimbly out of this golden collar
that is the world, and take the slaps that come from God.
The prophets suffered those blows on the neck,
and from that affliction they lifted their heads high.
But always be present, attentive, and ready in yourself,
youthful one, in order that He may find you at home.
Otherwise He will take back His gift of honor,
saying "I found no one there."

From Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance: A Daybook of Spiritual Guidance 

Translated by Camille Helmiski /  Kabir Helminski

Shall I Tell You Our Secret

Shall I Tell You Our Secret

Shall I tell you our secret?
We are charming thieves who steal hearts
and never fail because we are
the friends of the One.
The time for old preaching is over
we aim straight at the heart.
If the mind tries to sneak in and take over
we will string it up without delay.
We turn poison into medicine
and our sorrows into blessings.
All that was familiar,
our loved ones and ourselves,
we had to leave behind.

Blessed is the poem that comes through me
but not of me because the sound of my own music
will drown the song of Love.

From Rumi: Hidden Music

Translated by Melita Kolin / Maryam Mafi

Here Is My Dilemma

Here Is My Dilemma 

Here is my dilemma.

Please help me understand.

Your Love is a healer,

your Love is a wise master,

your Love is radiant,

your Love is delicate and

is soft in its essence.

I would gladly endure all this fire,

all this yearning,

all this burning,

for your Love.

But if your Love is so pleasant,

why does it hurt so much?

From Hush, Don't Say Anything To God

Translated by Shahram Shiva

A Man Was Crying

A Man Was Crying

One night a man was crying Allah! Allah! 

His lips grew sweet with praising,

 until a cynic said, “So! 

I have heard you calling out, but have you ever

 gotten any response?”

The man had no answer to that.

 He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,

 in a thick, green foliage.

“Why did you stop praising?” “Because 

I’ve never heard anything back.”

“This longing you express

 is the return message.”

The grief you cry out from

 draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness 

that wants help

 is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. 

That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs 

no one knows the names of.

Give your life

 to be one of them.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

This We Have Now

This We Have Now

This we have now 

is not imagination.

This is not grief, 

or joy, not a judging state, 

or an elation, or a sadness.

Those come and go. 

This is the presence 

that doesn’t.

It’s dawn, Husam, 

here in the splendor of coral, 

inside the Friend, in the simple truth

 of what Hallaj said.

What else could human beings want?

When grapes turn to wine,

 they’re wanting this.

When the night sky pours by, 

it’s really a crowd of beggars,

 and they all want some of this.

This we are now 

created the body, cell by cell,

 like bees building a honeycomb.

The human body and the universe 

grew from this, not this 

from the universe and the human body.

From The Book of Love 

Translated by Coleman Barks

A Lover of God

A Lover of God 

Sometimes a lover of God may faint 

in the presence. Then the beloved bends 

and whispers in his ear, “Beggar, 

spread out your robe. I’ll fill it with gold.

I’ve come to protect your consciousness. 

Where has it gone? Come back!”

This fainting is because lovers want so much. 

A chicken invites a camel into her henhouse, 

and the whole structure is demolished.

A rabbit nestles down with its eyes closed 

in the arms of a lion. There is an excess in 

spiritual searching that is profound ignorance.

Let that ignorance be our teacher! 

The Friend breathes into one who has no breath. 

A deep silence revives the listening
of those two who meet on the riverbank.

Like the ground turning green in a spring wind, 

like birdsong beginning inside the egg,

 like this universe coming into existence,

the lover wakes and whirls in a dancing joy, 

then kneels down in praise.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

Hallaj

Hallaj

Hallaj said what he said and went to the origin

 through the hole in the scaffold.

I cut a cap’s worth of cloth from his robe, 

and it swamped over me head to foot.

Years ago I broke a branch of roses

 from the top of his wall. A thorn from that

 is still in my palm, working deeper.

From Hallaj, I learned to hunt lions, 

but I became something hungrier than a lion.

I was a frisky colt. He broke me 

with a quiet hand on the side of my head.

A person comes to him naked. It’s cold.

 There’s a fur coat floating in the river.

“Jump in and get it,” he says. 

You dive in. You reach for the coat.

 It reaches for you.

It’s a live bear that has fallen in upstream, 

drifting with the current.

“How long does it take!” Hallaj yells from the bank.

 “Don’t wait,” you answer. “This coat

 has decided to wear me home!”

A little part of a story, a hint. 

Do you need long sermons on Hallaj?

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

A Great Wagon

A Great Wagon

When I see your face, the stones start spinning!

 You appear; all studying wanders. 

I lose my place.

Water turns pearly. 

Fire dies down and doesn’t destroy.

In your presence I don’t want what I thought 

I wanted, those three little hanging lamps.

Inside your face the ancient manuscripts

 seem like rusty mirrors. 

You breathe; new shapes appear,

 and the music of a desire as widespread

 as spring begins to move 

like a great wagon.

Drive slowly. Some of us 

walking alongside are lame.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

The Souls Friend

The Souls Friend

Listen to your essential self, the Friend.

 When you feel longing, be patient, 

and also prudent, moderate with eating and drinking.

Be like a mountain in the wind. 

Do you notice how it moves? There are sweet

 illusions that arrive to lure you away.

Make some excuse to them, “I have indigestion,”

 or “I need to meet my cousin.”

You fish, the baited hook may be fifty

 or even sixty gold pieces, but is it really 

worth your freedom in the ocean?

When traveling, stay close to your bag.

 I am the bag that holds what you love.

 You can be separated from me!

Live carefully in the joy of this friendship.

 Don’t think, But those others love me so.

Some invitations sound like the fowler’s whistle

 to the quail, friendly, but not quite 

how you remember the call of your soul’s Friend.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

Who Makes These Changes

Who Makes These Changes 

Who makes these changes? 

I shoot an arrow right. 

It lands left.

I ride after a deer and find myself 

chased by a hog.

I plot to get what I want 

and end up in prison.

I dig pits to trap others

 and fall in.

I should be suspicious 

of what I want.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

 

This Will Not Win Him

This Will Not Win Him 

Reason says,
I will win him with my eloquence.

Love says,
I will win him with my silence.

Soul says,
How can I ever win him
When all I have is already his?

He does not want, he does not worry,
He does not seek a sublime state of euphoria -
How then can I win him
With sweet wine or gold?

He is not bound by the senses -
How then can I win him
With all the riches of China?

He is an angel,
Though he appears in the form of a man.
Even angels cannot fly in his presence -
How then can I win him
By assuming a heavenly form?

He flies on the wings of God,
His food is pure light -
How then can I win him
With a loaf of baked bread?

He is neither a merchant, nor a tradesman -
How then can I win him
With a plan of great profit?

He is not blind, nor easily fooled -
How then can I win him
By lying in bed as if gravely ill?

I will go mad, pull out my hair,
Grind my face in the dirt -
How will this win him?

He sees everything -
how can I ever fool him?

He is not a seeker of fame,
A prince addicted to the praise of poets -
How then can I win him
With flowing rhymes and poetic verses?

The glory of his unseen form
Fills the whole universe
How then can I win him
With a mere promise of paradise?

I may cover the earth with roses,
I may fill the ocean with tears,
I may shake the heavens with praises -
none of this will win him.

There is only one way to win him,
this Beloved of mine -

Become his.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534521-This_Will_Not_Win_Him-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

Reason Says, Love Says

Reason Says, Love Says 

Reason says, “ I will beguile him with the tongue.”; Love says,
“Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul.”
The soul says to the heart, “Go, do not laugh at me and yourself.
What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him
thereby?”
He is not sorrowful and anxious and seeking oblivion that I
may beguile him with wine and a heavy measure.
The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should beguile
the shaft of his gaze with a bow.
He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world of earth,
that I should beguile him with gold of the kingdom of the world.
He is an angel, though in form he is a man; he is not lustful
that I should beguile him with women.
Angels start away from the house wherein this form is, so how
should I beguile him with such a form and likeness?
He does not take a flock of horses, since he flies on wings; his
food is light, so how should I beguile him with bread?
He is not a merchant and trafficker in the market of the world
that I should beguile him with enchantment of grain and loss.
He is not veiled that I should make myself out sick and utter
sighs, to beguile him with lamentation.
I will bind my head and bow my head, for I have got out of
hand; I will not beguile his compassion with sickness or fluttering.
Hair by hair he sees my crookedness and feigning; what’s
hidden from him that I should beguile him with anything hidden.
He is not a seeker of fame, a prince addicted to poets, that I
should beguile him with verses and lyrics and flowing poetry.
The glory of the unseen form is too great for me to beguile it
with blessing or Paradise.
Shams-e Tabriz, who is his chosen and beloved–perchance I
will beguile him with this same pole of the age.

From The Mystical Poems of Rumi: Second Selection

Translated by A.J. Arberry

Congratulations My Dear Heart

Congratulations My Dear Heart

You have fallen in love my dear heart
Congratulations!

You have freed yourself from all attachments
Congratulations!

You have given up both worlds to be on your own
the whole creation praises your solitude
Congratulations!

Your disbelief has turned into belief
your bitterness, into sweetness
Congratulations!

You have now entered into Love's fire, my pure heart
Congratulations!

Inside the Sufi's heart there is always a feast
dear heart, you are celebrating
Congratulations!

My heart, I have seen how your tears turned into a sea
now every wave keeps saying
Congratulations!

O silent lover, seeker of the higher planes,
may the Beloved always be with you
Congratulations!

You have struggled hard, may you grow wings and fly
Congratulations!

Keep silent my dear heart, you have done so well
Congratulations!

From Rumi: Hidden Music

Translated by Melita Kolin / Maryam Mafi

I Have A Fire For You

I Have A Fire For You

I have a fire for you in my mouth, but I have a hundred seals
on my tongue.
The flames which I have in my heart would make one mouth-
ful of both worlds.
Though the entire world should pass away, without the world
I possess the kingdom of a hundred worlds.
Caravans which are loaded with sugar I have in motion for
the Egypt of nonexistence.
The drunkenness of love makes me unaware whether I have
profit of loss therefrom.
The body’s eye was scattering pearls because of love, till now
I have a pearl-scattering soul.
I am not housebound, for like Jesus I have a home in the fourth
Heaven.
Thanks be to Him who gives soul to the body; if the soul
should depart, yet I have the soul of the soul.
Seek from me that which Shams-e Tabrizi has bestowed, for
I have the same.

From The Mystical Poems of Rumi: Second Selection

Translated by A.J. Arberry

Confused And Distraught

Confused And Distraught

Again I am raging,
I am in such a state by your soul that every
bond you bind, I break, by your soul.
I am like heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow;
I am all reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.

My joy is of your doing, my hangover of your thorn;
whatever side you turn your face,
I turn mine, by your soul.
I spoke in error;
it is not surprising to speak in error in this state,
for this moment I cannot tell cup from wine, by your soul.
I am that madman in bonds who binds the
"divs"; I, the madman,am a Solomon with the "divs",
by your soul.

Whatever form other than love raises up its head from my
heart, forthwith I drive it out of the court of my heart,
by your soul.
Come, you who have departed, for the thing that departs
comes back; neither you are that,
by my soul, nor I am that, by your soul.

Disbeliever, do not conceal disbelief in your soul, for I will recite
the secret of your destiny, by your soul.
Out of love of Sham-e Tabrizi,
through wakefulness or nightrising,
like a spinning mote I am distraught, by your soul.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534527-Confused_and_Distraught-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

O You Who've Gone On Pilgrimage

O You Who've Gone On Pilgrimage

O you who've gone on pilgrimage -
              where are you, where, oh where?
Here, here is the Beloved!
              Oh come now, come, oh come!
Your friend, he is your neighbor,
            he is next to your wall -
You, erring in the desert -
              what air of love is this?
If you'd see the Beloved's
              form without any form -
You are the house, the master,
              You are the Kaaba, you! . . .
Where is a bunch of roses,
              if you would be this garden?
Where, one soul's pearly essence
              when you're the Sea of God?
That's true - and yet your troubles
              may turn to treasures rich -
How sad that you yourself veil
              the treasure that is yours!

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534497-O_You_Whove_gone_on_Pilgrimage-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

When I Am Asleep

When I Am Asleep

When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb, should you come
to visit me, I will come forth with speed.
You are for me the blast of the trumpet and the resurrection,
so what shall I do? Dead or living, wherever you are, there am I.
Without your lip I am a frozen and silent reed; what melodies
I play the moment you breathe on my reed!
Your wretched reed has become accustomed to your sugar lip;
remember wretched me, for I am seeking you.
When I do not find the moon of your countenance, I bind up
my head [veil myself in your mourning]; when I do not find your
sweet lip, gnaw my own hand.

From The Mystical Poems of Rumi: Second Selection

Translated by A.J. Arberry

Be Lost In The Call

Be Lost In The Call

Lord, said David, since you do not need us,
why did you create these two worlds?

Reality replied: O prisoner of time,
I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity,
and I wished this treasure to be known,
so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart;
its darkened back, the world;
The back would please you if you've never seen the face.

Has anyone ever produced a mirror out of mud and straw?
Yet clean away the mud and straw,
and a mirror might be revealed.

Until the juice ferments a while in the cask,
it isn't wine. If you wish your heart to be bright,
you must do a little work.

My King addressed the soul of my flesh:
You return just as you left.
Where are the traces of my gifts?

We know that alchemy transforms copper into gold.
This Sun doesn't want a crown or robe from God's grace.
He is a hat to a hundred bald men,
a covering for ten who were naked.

Jesus sat humbly on the back of an ass, my child!
How could a zephyr ride an ass?
Spirit, find your way, in seeking lowness like a stream.
Reason, tread the path of selflessness into eternity.

Remember God so much that you are forgotten.
Let the caller and the called disappear;
be lost in the Call.

From Love Is A Stranger
Translated by Kabir Helminski

I Trust You

I Trust You 

The soul is a newly skinned hide, bloody

 and gross. Work on it with manual discipline,

 and the bitter tanning acid of grief.

You’ll become lovely and very strong. 

If you can’t do this work yourself, don’t worry. 

You don’t have to make a decision, one way or another.

The Friend, who knows a lot more than you do, 

will bring difficulties and grief and sickness, 

as medicine, as happiness, as the moment

when you’re beaten, when you hear Checkmate,

 and can finally say with Hallaj’s voice,
I trust you to kill me.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

If A Tree Could Wander

If A Tree Could Wander 

Oh, if a tree could wander
    and move with foot and wings!
It would not suffer the axe blows
    and not the pain of saws!

For would the sun not wander
    away in every night ?
How could at ev'ry morning
    the world be lighted up?

And if the ocean's water
    would not rise to the sky,
How would the plants be quickened
    by streams and gentle rain?

The drop that left its homeland,
    the sea, and then returned ?
It found an oyster waiting
    and grew into a pearl.

Did Yusaf not leave his father,
    in grief and tears and despair?
Did he not, by such a journey,
    gain kingdom and fortune wide?

Did not the Prophet travel
    to far Medina, friend?
And there he found a new kingdom
    and ruled a hundred lands.

You lack a foot to travel?
    Then journey into yourself!
And like a mine of rubies
    receive the sunbeams? print!

Out of yourself ? such a journey
    will lead you to your self,
It leads to transformation
    of dust into pure gold!

From Look! This Is Love

by  Annemarie Sachimme

An Intellectual

An Intellectual

An intellectual is all the time showing off.

Lovers dissolve and become bewildered.


Intellectuals try not to drown,
while the whole purpose of loves
is drowning.

                     Intellectual invent
ways to rest, and then lie down~
in those beds.

                        Lovers feel ashamed
of comforting ideas.

                                    You’ve seen a glob
of oil on water? That’s how a lover
sits with intellectuals, there, but alone
in a circle of himself.

                                    Some intellectual
tries to give sound advice to a lover.

All he hears back is, I love you.

I love you.

            Love is musk. Don’t deny it
when you smell the scent!

                                    Love is a tree.

Lovers, the shade of the long branches.


To the intellectual mind, a child must learn
to grow up and be adult.

                                    In the station of love,
you see old men getting younger and younger.


Shams chose to live low in the roots
for you. So now, he soars in the air
as you sublimely articulating love!

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534537-Ode_1957_An__intellectual-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

I Don't Need A Companion

I Don't Need A Companion 

I don't need
a companion who is
nasty sad and sour.

the one who is
like a grave
dark depressing and bitter

a sweetheart is a mirror
a friend a delicious cake
it isn't worth spending

an hour with anyone else

a companion who is
in love only with the self
has five distinct characters

stone hearted
unsure of every step
lazy and disinterested

keeping a poisonous face
the more this companion waits around
the more bitter everything will get

just like a vinegar
getting more sour with time

enough is said about
sour and bitter faces

a heart filled with desire for

sweetness and tender souls
must not waste itself with unsavory matters.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534569-Ghazal_119-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

We Are As The Flute

We Are As The Flute

We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee;
we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.

We are as pieces of chess engaged in victory and defeat:
our victory and defeat is from thee,
O thou whose qualities are comely!

Who are we, O Thou soul of our souls,
that we should remain in being beside thee?

We and our existences are really non-existence;
thou art the absolute Being which manifests the perishable.

We all are lions, but lions on a banner:
because of the wind they are rushing
onward from moment to moment.

Their onward rush is visible,
and the wind is unseen:
may that which is unseen not fail from us!

Our wind whereby we are moved and our being are of thy gift;
our whole existence is from thy bringing into being.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534573-We_Are_As_The_Flute-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

I Closed My Eyes To Creation

I Closed My Eyes To Creation

I closed my eyes to creation when I beheld his beauty, I became
intoxicated with his beauty and bestowed my soul.
For the sake of Solomon’s seal I became wax in all my body,
and in order to become illumined I rubbed my wax.
I saw his opinion and cast away my own twisted opinion; I
became his reed pipe and likewise lamented on his lip.
He was in my hand, and blindly I groped for him with my
hand; I was in his hand, and yet I inquired of those who were
misinformed.
I must have been either a simpleton or drunk or mad that
fearfully I was stealing from my own gold.
Like a thief I crept through a crack in the wall into my own
vine, like a thief I gathered jasmine from my own garden.
Enough, do not twist my secret upon your fingertips, for I have
twisted off out of your twisted fist.
Shams-e Tabriz, from whom comes the light of moon and
stars–though I am grieving with sorrow for him, I am like the
crescent of the festival.

From Mystical Poems of Rumi: Second Selection

Translated by A.J. Arberry

Laila And The Khalifa

Laila And The Khalifa

The Khalifa said to Laila, "Art thou really she
For whom Majnun lost his head and went distracted?
Thou art not fairer than many other fair ones."
She replied, "Be silent; thou art not Majnun!"


If thou hadst Majnun's eyes,
The two worlds would be within thy view.
Thou art in thy senses, but Majnun is beside himself.
In love to be wide awake is treason.
The more a man is awake, the more he sleeps (to love);
His (critical) wakefulness is worse than slumbering.


Our wakefulness fetters our spirits,
Then our souls are a prey to divers whims,
Thoughts of loss and gain and fears of misery.
They retain not purity, nor dignity, nor lustre,
Nor aspiration to soar heavenwards.
That one is really sleeping who hankers after each whim
And holds parley with each fancy.

From The Book of Love

Translated by Coleman Barks

O Lovers

O Lovers

O lovers, lovers it is time
to set out from the world.
I hear a drum in my soul's ear
coming from the depths of the stars.
Our camel driver is at work;
the caravan is being readied.
He asks that we forgive him
for the disturbance he has caused us,
He asks why we travelers are asleep.
Everywhere the murmur of departure;
the stars, like candles
thrust at us from behind blue veils,
and as if to make the invisible plain,
a wondrous people have come forth.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534561-Lovers-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

Who Is At My Door

Who Is At My Door

He said, "Who is at my door?"
I said, "Your humble servant."
He said, "What business do you have?"
I said, "To greet you, 0 Lord."

He said, "How long will you journey on?"
I said, "Until you stop me."
He said, "How long will you boil in the fire?"
I said, "Until I am pure.

"This is my oath of love.
For the sake of love
I gave up wealth and position."

He said, "You have pleaded your case
but you have no witness."
I said, "My tears are my witness;
the pallor of my face is my proof.'
He said, "Your witness has no credibility;
your eyes are too wet to see."
I said, "By the splendor of your justice
my eyes are clear and faultless."

He said, "What do you seek?"
I said, "To have you as my constant friend."
He said, "What do you want from me?"
I said, "Your abundant grace."

He said, "Who was your companion on the journey?
I said, "The thought of you, 0 King."
He said, "What called you here?"
I said, "The fragrance of your wine."

He said, "What brings you the most fulfillment?"
I said, "The company of the Emperor."
He said, "What do you find there?"
I said, "A hundred miracles."
He said, "Why is the palace deserted?"
I said, "They all fear the thief."
He said, "Who is the thief?"
I said, "The one who keeps me from -you.

He said, "Where is there safety?"
I said, "In service and renunciation."
He said, "What is there to renounce?"
I said, "The hope of salvation."

He said, "Where is there calamity?"
I said, "In the presence of your love."
He said, "How do you benefit from this life?"
I said, "By keeping true to myself

Now it is time for silence.
If I told you about His true essence
You would fly from your self and be gone,
and neither door nor roof could hold you back!

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534553-Who_is_at_my_door_-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

Love Is Reckless

Love Is Reckless 

Love is reckless; not reason.
Reason seeks a profit.
Love comes on strong,
consuming herself, unabashed.

Yet, in the midst of suffering,
Love proceeds like a millstone,
hard surfaced and straightforward.

Having died of self-interest,
she risks everything and asks for nothing.
Love gambles away every gift God bestows.

Without cause God gave us Being;
without cause, give it back again.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534577-Love_is_reckless-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

I Am Only The House of Your Beloved

I Am Only The House of Your Beloved

"I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it."
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:
that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the "state,"
it does His bidding;
when that one wills, bodies become spirit.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534589-I_am_only_the_house_of_your_beloved-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi

I Have Been Tricked

I Have Been Tricked

I have been tricked by flying too close
to what I thought I loved.
Now the candleflame is out, the wine spilled,
and the lovers have withdrawn
somewhere beyond my squinting.
The amount I thought I'd won, I've lost.
My prayers becomes bitter and all about blindness.
How wonderful it was to be for a while
with those who surrender.
Others only turn their faces on way,
then another, like pigeon in flight.
I have known pigeons who fly in a nowhere,
and birds that eat grainlessness,
and tailor who sew beautiful clothes
by tearing them to pieces.

From http://allpoetry.com/poem/8534597-I_have_been_tricked_by_flying_too_close-by-Mewlana_Jalaluddin_Rumi