Rumi Spring Again the Violet Bows to the Lily
Poems By Rumi
We have collected and put the all-time poems by Rumi. Enjoy reading these insights and feel complimentary to share this page on your social media to inspire others.
JalÄl ad-DÄ«n Muhammad RÅ«mÄ«(Ų¬ŁŲ§ŁŲ§ŁŲÆŪŁ Ł ŲŁ ŲÆ Ų±ŁŁ Ū), also known asJalÄl advert-DÄ«n Muhammad BalkhÄ« (Ų¬ŁŲ§ŁŲ§ŁŲÆŪŁ Ł ŲŁ ŲÆ ŲØŁŲ®Ł), MevlĆ¢nĆ¢, MawlÄnÄ (Ł ŁŁŲ§ŁŲ§, "our master"), MevlevĆ®, MawlawÄ« (Ł ŁŁŁŪ, "my master"), and more popularly but as Rumi (30 September 1207 – 17 December 1273), was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic originally from Greater Khorasan.
My Soul is my Guide,
for my Soul is of that Domicile
I volition not Speak of the Earthly,
I am of the Unknown.
— Rumi
Come up
Come up, come, whoever y'all are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
Information technology doesn't affair.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you lot have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come up, yet again, come, come.
— Rumi
1 Song
Every state of war and every conflict
between human beings has happened
considering of some disagreement about names.
It is such an unnecessary foolishness,
because just beyond the arguing
in that location is a long table of companionship
set and waiting for united states to sit down.
What is praised is i, then the praise is 1 too,
many jugs beingness poured into a huge bowl.
All religions, all this singing, one song.
The differences are just illusion and vanity.
Sunlight looks a little different
on this wall than information technology does on that wall
and a lot different on this other one,
merely it is yet the same light.
We have borrowed these clothes,
these time-and-space personalities,
from a light, and when we praise,
we are pouring them back in.
The translation is past Coleman Barks
Tomb shrine of Rumi, Konya
The Servant Who Loved His Prayers
At dawn a certain rich homo
wanted to go to the steam baths,
He woke his servant, Sunqur,
"Ho! Become moving! Get the basin
and the towels and the clay for washing
and let'due south go to the baths."
Sunqur immediately collected what was needed,
and they set out side by side along the route.
Equally they passed the mosque, the phone call to prayer sounded.
Sunqur loved his 5 times prayer.
"Delight, primary,
residue on this bench for a while that I may recite sura 98,
which begins,
'You who treat your slave with kindness.' "
The master sat on the bench outside while Sunqur went in.
When prayers were over, and the priest and all the worshipers
had left, even so Sunqur remained inside. The main waited
and waited. Finally he yelled into the mosque,
"Sunqur,
why don't you come out?"
"I can't. This clever 1
won't permit me. Take a little more patience.
I hear you out in that location."
Vii times the master waited,
and then shouted. Sunqur's reply was ever the same,
"Non nonetheless. He won't let me come out nevertheless."
"But there's no one
in at that place simply you. Anybody else has left.
Who makes you sit and then long?"
"The one who keeps me in here is the one
who keeps you out there.
The aforementioned who will not let you in volition non permit me out."
The ocean volition not allow its fish out of itself.
Nor does it let land animals in
where the subtle and delicate fish motion.
The state creatures lumber along on the ground.
No cleverness can change this. There'south only one
opener for the lock of these matters.
Forget your figuring. Forget your self. Heed to your Friend.
When you become totally obedient to that 1,
yous'll be free.
— Mathnawi III: 3055-76
Version past Coleman Barks "The Essential Rumi" Harper San Francisco, 1995
Be Lost In The Call
Lord, said David, since you do not demand u.s.,
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 middle;
its darkened dorsum, the world;
The back would please you if yous'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 exist revealed.
Until the juice ferments a while in the cask,
it isn't wine. If you wish your heart to exist bright,
you must do a footling work.
My King addressed the soul of my mankind:
You render just as y'all left.
Where are the traces of my gifts?
We know that alchemy transforms copper into gilded.
This Sun doesn't want a crown or robe from God's grace.
He is a hat to a hundred bald men,
a roofing for ten who were naked.
Jesus sat humbly on the back of an donkey, my kid!
How could a zephyr ride an ass?
Spirit, notice your way, in seeking lowness like a stream.
Reason, tread the path of selflessness into eternity.
Remember God then much that you are forgotten.
Let the caller and the called disappear;
be lost in the Call.
"Dearest is a Stranger", Kabir Helminski, Threshold Books, 1993
O you Who've Gone On Pilgrimage
O yous who've gone on pilgrimage
where are you lot, where, oh where?
Here, here is the Dear!
Oh come at present, 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
class without any form –
Yous are the house, the chief,
Yous are the Kaaba, you! . . .
Where is a bunch of roses,
if you would be this garden?
Where, one soul's pearly essence
when you lot're the Bounding main of God?
That's truthful – and all the same your troubles
may plow to treasures rich –
How sorry that yous yourself veil
the treasure that is yours!
Rumi 'I Am Wind, You are Burn', Translation by Annemarie Schimmel
Oh, If A Tree Could Wander
Oh, if a tree could wander
and motility with human foot and wings!
It would non suffer the axe blows
and non the pain of saws!
For would the sun not wander
away in every nighttime ?
How could at every morning
the world be lighted up?
And if the ocean?s h2o
would non rise to the sky,
How would the plants exist quickened
by streams and gentle pelting?
The drop that left its homeland,
the sea, and and then returned ?
It found an oyster waiting
and grew into a pearl.
Did Yusuf not leave his father,
in grief and tears and despair?
Did he non, by such a journeying,
gain kingdom and fortune wide?
Did not the Prophet travel
to far Medina, friend?
And at that place he found a new kingdom
and ruled a hundred lands.
You lack a foot to travel?
And so journey into yourself!
And like a mine of rubies
receive the sunbeams? print!
Out of yourself ? such a journeying
will lead you lot to your cocky,
It leads to transformation
of dust into pure aureate!
Expect! This is Honey – Poems of Rumi, Annemarie Schimmel
We Are As The Flute
We are as the flute, and the music in u.s.a. is from thee;
we are as the mountain and the repeat in usa is from thee.
We are every bit pieces of chess engaged in victory and defeat:
our victory and defeat is from thee, O 1000 whose qualities are comely!
Who are we, O Thou soul of our souls,
that nosotros should remain in existence beside thee?
We and our existences are really not-existence;
thou art the accented Being which manifests the perishable.
Nosotros all are lions, but lions on a banner:
considering of the wind they are rushing onward from moment to moment.
Their onward rush is visible, and the current of air is unseen:
may that which is unseen non fail from us!
Our air current whereby we are moved and our existence are of thy gift;
our whole existence is from thy bringing into being.
— From Masnavi Book I, 599-607
On The Deathbed
Get, residual your head on a pillow, leave me alone;
get out me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night,
writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn.
Either stay and be forgiving,
or, if you like, be cruel and leave.
Flee from me, away from trouble;
take the path of rubber, far from this danger.
Nosotros have crept into this corner of grief,
turning the water wheel with a flow of tears.
While a tyrant with a heart of flint slays,
and no one says, "Prepare to pay the blood money."
Faith in the king comes easily in lovely times,
simply be faithful now and endure, stake lover.
No cure exists for this pain but to die,
Then why should I say, "Cure this hurting"?
In a dream last night I saw
an aboriginal one in the garden of love,
beckoning with his hand, saying, "Come here."
On this path, Love is the emerald,
the beautiful green that wards off dragonsnough, I am losing myself.
If yous are a human of learning,
read something classic,
a history of the homo struggle
and don't settle for mediocre verse.
— From Kulliyat-i-Shams 2039
This Matrimony
May these vows and this wedlock be blessed.
May information technology be sugariness milk,
this union, like wine and halvah.
May this spousal relationship offer fruit and shade
like the date palm.
May this marriage be full of laughter,
our every day a day in paradise.
May this marriage be a sign of compassion,
a seal of happiness here and hereafter.
May this marriage have a fair face up and a skillful name,
an omen as welcomes the moon in a clear bluish sky.
I am out of words to describe
how spirit mingles in this marriage.
— From Kulliyat-i-Shams 2667
This World Which Is Made Of Our Beloved For Emptiness
Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
This place made from our dearest for that emptiness!
Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.
Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my ain existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
Gratuitous of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fright, promise,
costless of mountainous wanting.
The hither-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of harbinger
blown off into emptiness.
These words I'g maxim then much begin to lose pregnant:
Existence, emptiness, mountain, harbinger:
Words and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof.
From Fihi ma Fihi
"It is said that after Muhammad and the prophets revelation does not descend upon anyone else. Why not? In fact it does, but then it is not called 'revelation.' Information technology is what the Prophet referred to when he said, 'The believer sees with the Low-cal of God.' When the laic looks with 'The laic sees with the Low-cal of God.' When the laic looks with God's Light, he sees all things: the first and the last, the present and the absent-minded. For how can anything be hidden from God's Light? And if something is hidden, then information technology is not the Calorie-free of God. Therefore the meaning of revelation exists, even if it is not called revelation."
Fihi ma fihi [Discourses of Rumi] – quoted from William C. Chittick, The Sufi Path of Love: The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi
The Drum Of The Realization
The drum of the realization of the promise is beating,
we are sweeping the road to the sky. Your joy is here today, what remains for tomorrow?
The armies of the day accept chased the army of the dark,
Heaven and earth are filled with purity and light.
Oh! joy for he who has escaped from this world of perfumes and color!
For beyond these colors and these perfumes, these are other colors in the eye and the soul.
Oh! joy for this soul and this centre who have escaped
the earth of water and clay,
Although this water and this clay incorporate the hearth of the
philosophical rock.
— From (Mystic Odes 473)
Telephone call Of Love
At every instant and from every side, resounds the call of Love:
We are going to heaven, who wants to come with the states?
We accept gone to heaven, nosotros have been the friends of the angels,
And now nosotros volition go back there, for there is our state.
We are college than heaven, more noble than the angels:
Why non become beyond them? Our goal is the Supreme Majesty.
What has the fine pearl to do with the world of grit?
Why take you lot come up down hither? Have your baggage back. What is this place?
Luck is with usa, to us is the sacrifice!…
Like the birds of the sea, men come up from the body of water–the ocean of the soul.
Similar the birds of the ocean, men come up from the bounding main–the ocean of the soul.
How could this bird, built-in from that sea, make his habitation hither?
No, we are the pearls from the bust of the ocean, information technology is at that place that we dwell:
Otherwise how could the moving ridge succeed to the wave that comes from the soul?
The moving ridge named 'Am I not your Lord' has come, information technology has broken the vessel of the body;
And when the vessel is broken, the vision comes dorsum, and the union with Him.
Eva de Vitray-Meyerovitch, 'Rumi and Sufism' trans. Simone Fattal – Sausalito, CA: Post-Apollo Press, 1977, 1987.
Our Death Is Our Wedding
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 decease of the carnal soul is a approval.
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 well-nigh what is invisible,
So that he may identify another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or undercover matter exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Calorie-free?
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 Low-cal of God,
The imperceptible light is an attribute of the torso and the flesh.
…Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flight towards Yous with the wings of desire.
— From (Mystic Odes 833)
Derwish
I've Said Earlier That Every Craftsman
I've said before that every craftsman
searches for what's not at that place
to practice his craft.
A builder looks for the rotten hole
where the roof caved in. A h2o-carrier
picks the empty pot. A carpenter
stops at the house with no door.
Workers rush toward some hint
of emptiness, which they then
first to fill. Their hope, though,
is for emptiness, so don't call back
yous must avoid it. It contains
what you need!
Honey soul, if y'all were non friends
with the vast nothing within,
why would you always be casting yous net
into it, and waiting and then patiently?
This invisible body of water has given you lot such abundance,
but still you call it "death",
that which provides you sustenance and work.
God has allowed some magical reversal to occur,
then that you see the scorpion pit
as an object of desire,
and all the beautiful surface area effectually it,
as dangerous and swarming with snakes.
This is how strange your fear of death
and emptiness is, and how perverse
the attachment to what you desire.
Now that you've heard me
on your misapprehensions, dear friend,
listen to Attar'south story on the aforementioned subject field.
He strung the pearls of this
about King Mahmud, how among the spoils
of his Indian entrada there was a Hindu male child,
whom he adopted as a son. He educated
and provided royally for the male child
and later made him vice-regent, seated
on a gold throne beside himself.
Ane day he found the beau weeping..
"Why are you crying? Yous're the companion
of an emperor! The entire nation is ranged out
earlier you like stars that you tin can control!"
The young man replied, "I am remembering
my mother and father, and how they
scared me every bit a kid with threats of you lot!
'Uh-oh, he'due south headed for King Mahmud's court!
Nothing could be more hellish!' Where are they now
when they should see me sitting here?"
This incident is nigh your fear of changing.
You are the Hindu male child. Mahmud, which ways
Praise to the Terminate, is the spirit'southward
poverty or emptiness.
The mother and father are your attachment
to beliefs and blood ties
and desires and comforting habits.
Don't listen to them!
They seem to protect
but they imprison.
They are your worst enemies.
They brand yous afraid
of living in emptiness.
Some day you'll weep tears of delight in that court,
remembering your mistaken parents!
Know that your body nurtures the spirit,
helps it grow, and gives information technology incorrect advise.
The body becomes, eventually, like a belong
of chain mail in peaceful years,
too hot in summer and also cold in winter.
But the torso'south desires, in another way, are like
an unpredictable associate, whom you must be
patient with. And that companion is helpful,
because patience expands your capacity
to love and feel peace.
The patience of a rose close to a thorn
keeps it fragrant. It's patience that gives milk
to the male person camel still nursing in its third year,
and patience is what the prophets show to us.
The beauty of careful sewing on a shirt
is the patience it contains.
Friendship and loyalty have patience
every bit the forcefulness of their connexion.
Feeling lonely and ignoble indicates
that y'all oasis't been patient.
Be with those who mix with God
equally love blends with milk, and say,
"Anything that comes and goes,
rises and sets, is non
what I honey." else yous'll be like a caravan fire left
to flare itself out alone abreast the road.
Rumi VI (1369-1420) from 'Rumi : I-Handed Basket Weaving
"NOONE" Says It Meliorate
What is the mi'raj12 of the heavens?
Non-existence.
The religion and creed of the lovers is not- being.
— From Masnavi Six 233
These Spiritual Window-shoppers
These spiritual window-shoppers,
who idly enquire, 'How much is that?' Oh, I'grand just looking.
They handle a hundred items and put them downward,
shadows with no upper-case letter.
What is spent is dearest and 2 eyes moisture with weeping.
Simply these walk into a shop,
and their whole lives laissez passer suddenly in that moment,
in that shop.
Where did you become? "Nowhere."
What did you have to consume? "Nothing much."
Fifty-fifty if you don't know what you want,
purchase _something,_ to be part of the exchanging flow.
Outset a huge, foolish project,
like Noah.
Information technology makes absolutely no difference
what people call up of yous.
Rumi, 'We Are Three', Mathnawi VI, 831-845
I Died From Minerality
I died from minerality and became vegetable;
And From vegetativeness I died and became animal.
I died from animality and became homo.
And so why fright disappearance through death?
Adjacent fourth dimension I shall die
Bringing forth wings and feathers similar angels;
Later that, soaring college than angels –
What you lot cannot imagine,
I shall be that.
Soul Receives From Soul
Soul receives from soul that knowledge, therefore not by volume
nor from tongue.
If noesis of mysteries come up later on emptiness of mind, that is
illumination of heart.
If Thou Wilt Be Observant
If thou wilt exist observant and vigilant, yard wilt see at every moment the response to thy activity. Exist observant if m wouldst accept a pure heart, for something is born to thee in effect of every action.
I Said, 'Thou Art Harsh'
I said, 'Thou art harsh, like such a 1.'
'Know,' he replied,
'That I am harsh for practiced, not from rancor and spite.
Whoever enters saying, "This I," I smite him on the brow;
For this is the shrine of Love, o fool! it is not a sheep cote!
Rub thine eyes, and behold the paradigm of the heart.'
Brand Yourself Free
Make yourself gratis from cocky at one stroke!
Like a sword be without trace of soft iron;
Like a steel mirror, scour off all rust with contrition.
A Star Without A Name
When a baby is taken from the wet nurse,
information technology easily forgets her
and starts eating solid food.
Seeds feed awhile on ground,
then lift up into the sun.
Then you lot should taste the filtered calorie-free
and work your style toward wisdom
with no personal covering.
That's how you came here, like a star
without a name. Move across the nighttime heaven
with those anonymous lights.
— From (Mathnawi III, 1284-1288) "Say I am You lot" Coleman Barks Maypop, 1994
The Many Wines
God has given united states a dark wine so strong that,
drinking it, we leave the 2 worlds.
God has put into the form of hashish a power
to deliver the taster from cocky-consciousness.
God has made sleep and so
that it erases every thought.
God made Majnun dear Layla then much that
just her dog would crusade confusion in him.
At that place are thousands of wines
that tin take over our minds.
Don't think all ecstacies
are the same!
Jesus was lost in his honey for God.
His donkey was drunk with barley.
Drink from the presence of saints,
non from those other jars.
Every object, every beingness,
is a jar full of please.
Exist a conoisseur,
and sense of taste with caution.
Any wine will become you loftier.
Judge like a male monarch, and choose the purest,
the ones unadulterated with fright,
or some urgency about "what's needed."
Drink the wine that moves you
every bit a camel moves when information technology'southward been untied,
and is simply ambling almost.
— From Mathnawi 4, 2683-96, The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barks
Gone To The Unseen
At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous road did you take from this world?
Beating your wings and feathers,
you bankrupt complimentary from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
Y'all were a prized falcon trapped past an Sometime Woman.
Then you lot heard the drummer's telephone call
and flew beyond space and time.
Every bit a lovesick nightingale, you flew amidst the owls.
Then came the odour of the rose garden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.
The wine of this fleeting world
caused your caput to anguish.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, yous sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's center of elation.
This phantom world gave you simulated signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.
You lot are now the Sun –
what need accept yous for a crown?
You have vanished from this world –
what need have y'all to tie your robe?
I've heard that you tin barely come across your soul.
But why look at all? –
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.
The flowers flee from Fall, merely not you –
Yous are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.
Pouring downwards like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .
Now the words are over
and the hurting they bring is gone.
At present you have gone to residual
in the arms of the Beloved.
— "Rumi – In the Arms of the Beloved", Jonathan Star, New York 1997
How Did Yous Get Away
You were the pet falcon of an former adult female.
Did you hear the falcon-pulsate?
You were a drunken songbird put in with owls.
Did you smell the odor of a garden?
You got tired of sour fermenting
and left the tavern.
You went like an pointer to the target
from the bow of time and place.
The man who stays at the cemetery pointed the way,
just you didn't go.
You became lite and gave up wanting to be famous.
Yous don't worry nigh what you're going to eat,
so why buy an engraved belt?
I've heard of living at the center, only what about
leaving the center of the center?
Flying toward thankfulness, y'all become
the rare bird with one wing made of fear,
and ane of hope. In autumn,
a rose crawling forth the ground in the cold air current.
Rain on the roof runs down and out past the spout
equally fast as it tin can.
Talking is pain. Prevarication down and residuum,
now that you've found a friend to exist with.
"These Branching Moments", Coleman Barks, Copper Beech Printing, 1988
He Comes
He comes, a moon whose like the heaven ne'er saw, awake or dreaming.
Crowned with eternal flame no alluvion tin lay.
Lo, from the flagon of thy love, O Lord, my soul is swimming,
And ruined all my body's firm of dirt!
When outset the Giver of the grape my lonely heart befriended,
Wine fired my bust and my veins filled up;
But when his image all min centre possessed, a phonation descended:
'Well done, O sovereign Wine and peerless Loving cup!'
Love's mighty arm from roof to base each dark habitation is hewing,
Where chinks reluctant catch a golden ray.
My heart, when Love's sea of a sudden burst into its viewing,
Leaped headlong in, with 'Find me now who may!'
As, the lord's day moving, clouds behind him run,
All hearts attend thee, O Tabriz's Sunday!
R. A. Nicholson, 'Persian Poems', an Anthology of verse translations edited by A. J. Arberry, Lowest's Library, 1972
Poor Copies
Poor copies out of heaven's originals,
Pale earthly pictures mouldering to decay,
What care although your beauties break and fall,
When that which gave them life endures for yes?
Oh never vex thine heart with idle woes:
All high discourse enchanting the rapt ear,
All gilded landscapes and brave glistering shows
Fade-perish, simply it is not equally we fear.
Whilst far abroad the living fountains ply,
each petty brook goes brimful to the main
Since baron nor fountain can for e'er die,
Thy fears how foolish, thy lament how vain!
What is this fountain, wouldst thou rightly know?
The Soul whence issue all created things.
Doubtless the rivers shall not cease to period,
Till silenced are the everlasting springs.
Bye to sorrow, and with quiet mind
Drink long and deep: permit others fondly deem
The channel empty they perchance may find,
Or fathom that unfathomable stream.
The moment thou to this low world wast given,
A ladder stood whereby grand might'st aspire;
And offset thy steps, which upward nevertheless have striven,
From mineral mounted to the establish; then college
To animal existence; next, the Man,
With knowledge, reason, faith. Oh wondrous goal!
This body, which a crumb of dust began-
How fairly fashioned the consummate whole!
Yet stay non here thy journey: k shalt grow
An angel bright and domicile far off in sky.
Plod on, plunge concluding in the great Sea, that so
Thy trivial drop make oceans seven times seven.
'The Son of God!' Nay, leave that word unsaid,
Say: 'God is One, the pure, the single Truth.'
What though thy frame be withered, old, and dead,
If the soul go along her fresh immortal youth?
R. A. Nicholson, 'Western farsi Poems', an Album of poetry translations edited by A. J. Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
Departure
Upwardly, O ye lovers, and away! 'Tis time to leave the globe for aye.
Hark, loud and clear from sky the from of parting calls-permit none delay!
The cameleer hat risen amain, fabricated ready all the camel-train,
And quittance now desires to gain: why sleep ye, travellers, I pray?
Behind usa and before there swells the din of departing and of bells;
To shoreless space each moment sails a disembodied spirit away.
From yonder starry lights, and through those drape-awnings darkly blueish,
Mysterious figures float in view, all strange and underground things display.
From this orb, wheeling round its pole, a wondrous slumber o'er thee stole:
O weary life that weighest zip, O slumber that on my soul dost weigh!
O eye, toward they heart's dear wend, and O friend, fly toward the Friend,
Be wakeful, watchman, to the cease: drowse seemingly no watchman may.
R. A. Nicholson, 'Persian Poems', an Album of verse translations edited past A. J. Arberry, Everyman'south Library, 1972
Remembered Music
'Tis said, the piping and lute that charm our ears
Derive their melody from rolling spheres;
Merely Organized religion, o'erpassing speculation's spring,
Can see what sweetens every jangled sound.
We, who are parts of Adam, heard with him
The vocal of angels and of seraphim.
Out memory, though dull and sad, retains
Some echo nevertheless of those unearthly strains.
Oh, music is the meat of all who love,
Music uplifts the soul to realms to a higher place.
The ashes glow, the latent fires increase:
Nosotros mind and are fed with joy and peace.
R. A. Nicholson, 'Farsi Poems', an Anthology of verse translations edited past A. J. Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
The Spirit Of The Saints
At that place is a Water that flows down from Heaven
To cleanse the earth of sin by grace Divine.
At last, its whole stock spent, its virtue gone.
Dark with pollution not its own, information technology speeds
Back to the Fountain of all purities;
Whence, freshly bathed, earthward information technology sweeps once more,
Trailing a robe of glory bright and pure.
This Water is the Spirit of the Saints,
Which ever sheds, until itself is beggared,
God's balm on the sick soul; and and so returns
To Him who made the purest light of Sky.
R. A. Nicholson, 'Persian Poems', an Anthology of poesy translations edited by A. J. Arberry, Lowest's Library, 1972
The True Sufi
What makes the Sufi? Purity of heart;
Non the patched drape and the lust perverse
Of those vile earth-bound men who steal his proper 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 identify-gate and curtained bower,
Requite way before him, unafraid he passes,
And showing the Male monarch's arrow, enters in.
R. A. Nicholson, 'Persian Poems', an Album of verse translations edited past A. J. Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
Unseen Power
We are the flute, our music is all Thine;
Nosotros are the mountains echoing just Thee;
And movest to defeat or victory;
Lions emblazoned high on flags unfurled-
They wind invisible sweeps us through the world.
R. A. Nicholson, 'Western farsi Poems', an Album of verse translations edited by A. J. Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
The Progress Of Man
Showtime he appeared in the realm inanimate;
Thence came into the world of plants and lived
The plant-life many a year, nor called to listen
What he had been; and so took the onward way
To fauna being, and once more
Remembers naught of what life vegetive,
Save when he feels himself moved with want
Towards information technology in the season of sweetness flowers,
As babes that seek the chest and know not why.
Once again the wise Creator whom thou knowest
Uplifted him from animality
To Man'southward estate; and so from realm to realm
Advancing, he became intelligent,
Cunning and dandy of wit, as he is now.
No retention of his by abides with him,
And from his present soul he shall be changes.
Though he is fallen comatose, God will non leave him
In this forgetfulness. Awakened, he
Will express mirth to retrieve what troublous dreams he had.
And wonder how his happy state of being
He could forget, and non perceive that all
Those pains and sorrows were the effect of slumber
And guile and vain illusion. So this world
Seems lasting, though 'tis simply the sleepers' dream;
Who, when the appointed Day shall dawn, escapes
From dark imaginings that haunted him,
And turns with laughter on his phantom griefs
When he beholds his everlasting habitation.
R. A. Nicholson, 'Persian Poems', an Album of verse translations edited past A. J. Arberry, Lowest's Library, 1972
Reality And Advent
'Tis calorie-free makes colour visible: at nighttime
Cherry-red, greene, and russet vanish from thy sight.
So to thee lite past darness is fabricated known:
Since God lid none, He, seeing all, denies
Himself eternally to mortal eyes.
From the nighttime jungle as a tiger bright,
Form from the viewless Spirit leaps to ligth.
R. A. Nicholson, 'Western farsi Poems', an Anthology of verse translations edited by A. J. Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
Descent
I made a far journey
Earth's fair cities to view,
but similar to beloved'southward city
Urban center none I knew
At the start I knew not
That metropolis's worth,
And turned in my folly
A wanderer on world.
From so sweet a country
I must needs pass,
And like to cattle
Grazed on every grass.
Equally Moses' people
I would liefer eat
Garlic, than manna
And celestial meat.
What voice in this earth
to my ear has come
Save the voice of beloved
Was a tapped drum.
Yet for that drum-tap
From the world of All
Into this perishing
Country I did fall.
That world a lone spirit
Inhabiting.
Like a snake I crept
Without foot or fly.
The vino that was laughter
And grace to sip
Like a rose I tasted
Without pharynx or lip.
'Spirit, get a journey,'
Love's voice said:
'Lo, a home of travail
I have fabricated.'
Much, much I cried:
'I will not go';
Yea, and rent my raiment
And made great woe.
Even as now I shrink
To exist gone from here,
Yet thence
To office I did fearfulness.
'Spirit, go thy way,'
Beloved called again,
'And I shall be ever near thee
Every bit they neck'southward vein.'
Much did love enchant me
And made much guile;
Love's guile and enchantment
Capture me the while.
In ignorance and folly
When my wings I spread,
From palace unto prison
I was swiftly sped.
At present I would tell
How thither thou mayst come;
Only ah, my pen is broke
And I am dumb.
A..J. Arberry, 'Western farsi Poems', an Anthology of verse translations edited by A. J. Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
I am Part Of The Load
I am part of the load
Not rightly counterbalanced
I drib off in the grass,
similar the sometime Cave-sleepers, to scan
wherever I fall.
For hundreds of thousands of years I have been dust-grains
floating and flying in the will of the air,
ofttimes forgetting always being
in that state, simply in sleep
I migrate back. I bound loose
from the four-branched, time -and-space cantankerous,
this waiting room.
I walk into a huge pasture
I nurse the milk of millennia
Anybody does this in dissimilar ways.
Knowing that conscious decisions
and personal retentiveness
are much too small a place to alive,
every man being streams at dark
into the loving nowhere, or during the day,
in some absorbing piece of work.
— From (Mathnawi, VI 216-227) Rumi, 'We Are Three'
Delusion Is A Divine Curse
If he could run across his nothingness
and his deadly, festering wound,
pain would arise from looking inside,
and that pain would relieve him.
— From Mathnawi 2:2513-2517
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski "Rumi: Daylight"
Threshold Books, 1994 Persian transliteration courtesy of YahyĆ” Monastra
Bowl of Reflections with Rumi's poetry, early 13th century. Brooklyn Museum.
Thanksgiving Is Sweeter Than The Bounty Itself
Thanksgiving is sweeter than the bounty itself
(itself): how should he that is addicted to thanksgiving get towards
Compensation produces heedlessness, and thanksgiving alertness:
hunt later on bounty with the snare of thanksgiving to the King.
The bounty of thanksgiving volition make you contented and princely so
that you will bestow a hundred bounties on the poor.
You volition consume your make full of the viands and dessert of God, and then that
hunger and begging will depart from you.
— From Mathnawi III: 2895-2899
Translation and Commentary by Reynold A. Nicholson
"The Mathnawi of Jalalu'ddin Rumi" Published and Distributed by The Trustees of The "East.J.Westward. Gibb Memorial"
Thanksgiving Prayer
Thanksgiving is sweeter than compensation itself.
One who cherishes gratitude
does not cling to the gift!
Thanksgiving is the true meat
of God's bounty;
the bounty is its shell,
For thanksgiving carries yous
to the hearth of the Dear.
Affluence solitary brings heedlessness,
thanksgiving gives birth to alertness…
The bounty of thanksgiving
volition satisfy and drag y'all,
and you lot volition bestow
a hundred bounties in return.
Eat your fill of God'southward delicacies,
and you volition exist freed from hunger and begging.
— Rumi
The Sunrise Ruby
In the early on morning hour,
just before dawn, lover and beloved wake
and have a drinkable of h2o.
She ask, "Do you beloved me or yourself more?
Really, tell the absolute truth."
He says, "There's zip left of me.
I'g like a ruby held upward to the sunrise.
Is it still a stone, or a earth
made of redness? It has no resistance
to sunlight."
This is how Hallaj said, I am God,
and told the truth!
The ruby and the sunrise are one.
Be courageous and discipline yourself.
Completely get hearing and ear,
and wear this lord's day-ruby as an earring.
Work. Keep earthworks your well.
Don't think about getting off from work.
Water is there somewhere.
Submit to a daily practise.
Your loyalty to that
is a ring on the door.
Proceed knocking, and the joy inside
will somewhen open a window
and look out to see who's there.
— Version by Coleman Barks, "The Essential Rumi" Castle Books, 1997
A Great Rose Tree
This is the day and the twelvemonth
of the rose. The whole garden
is opening with laughter. Iris
whispering to cypress. The rose
is the joy of meeting someone.
The rose is a world imagination
cannot imagine. A messenger from
the orchard where the soul lives.
A modest seed that points to a great
rose tree! Hold its paw and walk
like a child. A rose is what grows
from the work the prophets practise.
Total moon, new moon. Accept the
invitation spring extends, four
birds flight toward a master. A rose
is all these, and the silence that
closes and sits in the shade, a bud.
— From Ghazal (Ode) 1348, Version by Coleman Barks, with Nevit Ergin "The Glance" Viking-Penguin, 1999
Don't go dorsum to sleep!
The early breeze before dawn
is the keeper of secrets.
Don't go back to sleep!
Information technology is time for prayer, it is time to ask for
what you really demand.
Don't go dorsum to sleep!
The door of the One who created the world
is always open.
Don't become back to sleep.
— Translation by Azima Melita Kolin and Maryam Mafi "Rumi: Subconscious Music" HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 2001
In This Garden
O soul, who is that standing in the house of the heart? Who
may be on the royal throne merely the king and the prince?1
He signaled with his mitt, "Tell me, what do yous want of
me?" What does a drunken human desire just sweetmeats and a
cup of wine?
Sweetmeats hanging from the middle, a cup of pure low-cal, an
eternal banquet laid in the privacy of "He is the Truth."2
How many deceivers there are at the wine-drinkers' banquet!
Beware, lest you fall, soft and simple homo!
In the circle of reprobates beware lest yous exist eye-shut similar
the bud, oral cavity-open up like the rose.
The globe is like a mirror, the epitome of the perfection of Dear;
men, who has ever seen a part greater than the whole?
Go along foot like the grass, for in this rose garden the Beloved
like a rose is riding; all the residuum are on foot.
He is both sword and swordsman, both slain and slayer, all
Reason, and giving reason to the mind.iii
That king is Salah-al-din4 may he suffer forever, may his
bountiful mitt be perpetually a necklace on my neck!
— Translation by A. J. Arberry, "Mystical Poems of Rumi" The University of Chicago Press, 1968
one According to Nicholson (Divan-i Sham, 238, 300) this is a reference to the hadis' of the Prophet, where God says: "My earth and sky comprise me not, but the heart of my believing retainer contains me."
2 "He is the Truth" Qur'an 22:vi.
iii Reason is annihilated in mystical love.
4 "Salah-al-din Zarkub", who died c. 659/1261, was Rumi'southward pir' (teacher) after Shams al-Din vanished he is here hailed as an embodiment of the Spirit of Muhammad, the Perfect Homo.
I desire that dearest that moved the mountains.
I desire that love that split the bounding main.
I want that dear that made the winds tremble.
I desire that love that roared similar thunder.
I desire that honey that will heighten the expressionless.
I desire that beloved that lifts us to ecstasy.
I desire that dear that is the silence of eternity.
— Rumi
I am an cantlet;
you are like the eyebrow of the Sun for me.
I am a patient of Beloved
you are like medicine for me.
Without wings, without feathers,
I fly most looking for you.
I take become a Rose petal
and you are like the Air current for me.
Take me for a ride.
— Rumi
We are the mirror, equally well as the face up in it.
We are tasting the gustatory modality of eternity this infinitesimal.
Nosotros are pain and what cures hurting.
We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
Soul of the world, no life, nor world remain,
no beautiful women and men longing.
Just this ancient dear circling the holy black stone of nothing.
Where the lover is the loved, the horizon and everything within information technology.
— Rumi
Listen to presences inside poems,
Let them take you where they will.
Follow those private hints,
and never exit the premises.
— Rumi
You lot are the source of the sun.
And I am the willow'south shadow.
Oh, you lot have struck me on the head,
Wretch that I am, on burn down am I.
— Rumi
Yous consider bug, but non deeply enough.
Your spring is frozen. Organized religion is a flowing.
Don't try to forge cold iron.
Report David, the ironsmith, and dancer, and musician.
Motility into the sun. You lot're wrapped in fantasy
and inner mumbling. When spirit enters, a man begins to wander freely,
escaped and overrunning through the garden plants,
spontaneous and soaking in.
Now a phenomenon story…
— Rumi
You came suddenly shook me from my sleep and vanished.
In my center you rose like the moon
but every bit I glanced at you, you disappeared.
Having had a glimpse of Your garden,
I have no more the patience to endure my beingness….
— Rumi
Late, by myself, in the gunkhole of myself,
no lite and no country anywhere,
cloudcover thick. I endeavor to stay
but in a higher place the surface, still I'grand already nether
and living within the ocean.
— Rumi
My love, you are closer to me than myself…
You shine through my eyes,
Your lite is brighter than the Moon…
Footstep into the garden and then all the flowers…
Even the tall poplar can kneel before your beauty…
Let your vocalization silence the lily famous for its hundred tongues,
When yous want to exist kind…
You are softer than the soul…
But when you withdraw…
You can be and so cold and harsh.
Dear one, you can exist wild and rebellious…
Simply when yous meet him confront to face up…
His charm will make you docile like the world,
Throw abroad your shield and bare your breast…
At that place is no stronger protection than him.
That'due south why when the Lover withdraws from the earth…
He covers all the cracks in the wall…
So the outside light cannot come though,
He knows that only the inner calorie-free illuminates his world!- Rumi
Y'all are sitting here with united states,
only you are also out walking in a field at dawn.
You are yourself the animal we hunt
when you lot come with us on the hunt.
Yous are in your torso
like a plant is solid in the ground,
withal you are air current.
You are the diver'south clothes
lying empty on the beach.
Y'all are the fish.
In the ocean are many bright strands
and many dark strands like veins that are seen
when a fly is lifted up.
Your subconscious self is blood in those,
those veins that are lute strings
that make bounding main music,
not the sad edge of surf,
but the sound of no shore.
— Rumi
So Recklessly Exposed
Dec and January, gone.
Tulips coming up. It's fourth dimension to watch
how trees stagger in the current of air
and roses never rest.
Wisteria and Jasmine twist on themselves.
Violet kneels to Hyacinth, who bows.
Narcissus winks, wondering what will
the lightheaded Willow say
of such irksome dancing by Cypress.
Painters come outdoors with brushes.
I love their hands.
The birds sing suddenly and all at in one case.
The soul says Ya Hu, quietly.
A dove calls, Where, ku?
Soul, y'all will observe it.
Now the roses show their breasts.
No ane hides when the Friend arrives.
The Rose speaks openly to the Nightingale.
Observe how the Green Lily has several tongues
merely however keeps her secret.
Now the Nightingale sings this love
that is so recklessly exposed, like yous.
— Rumi
First, when I was apart from you,
this globe did not exist, nor whatsoever other.
2nd, whatever I was looking for
was always you lot.
— Rumi
What else can I say?
Yous will only hear
what you are ready to hear.
Don't nod your head,
Don't endeavour to fool me—
the truth of what you see
is written all over your face!- Rumi
There is a identify built-in of silence
A identify where the whispers of the heart arise.
There is a identify where voices sing your dazzler
A place where every breath
carves your image
in my soul.
— Rumi
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to cease up in that location.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back effectually to that place,
I'll be completely sober.
— Rumi
Don't run effectually this world
looking for a pigsty to hibernate in.
There are wild beasts in every cave!
If y'all live with mice,
the true cat claws volition detect you lot.
— Rumi
You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust.
You were born with ideals and dreams.
You were born with greatness.
You lot were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don't.
Yous have wings.
Acquire to use them and wing.
— Rumi
You are my vino, my joy,
My garden, my springtime,
My slumber, my quiet,
Without you, I can't cope.
— Rumi
Dice! Die! Die in this love!
If you die in this love,Your soul volition be renewed.
Die! Dice! Don't fright the death of that which is known
If you lot die to the temporal, You will become timeless.
— Rumi
Imagine a human selling his ass
to be with Jesus.
Now imagine him selling Jesus
to get a ride on a donkey.
This does happen.
Jesus tin can transform a boozer into aureate.
If the drunk is already golden,
he can be changed to pure diamond.
If already that, he can become the circling
planets, Jupiter, Venus, the moon.
Never recall that you are worthless.
God has paid an enormous amount for y'all,
and the gifts keep arriving.
— Rumi
When you lot look for God,
God is in the look of your eyes
In the thought of looking, nearer to you than your self,
or things that have happened to yous
There'south no need to become outside.
Be melting snow.
Wash yourself of yourself.
A white blossom grows in the quietness.
Let your tongue become that flower.
— Rumi
Become With Muddy Anxiety
When yous hear dirty story
wash your ears.
When yous see ugly stuff
wash your optics.
When you become bad thoughts
wash your mind.
and
Go along your feet muddy.
— Rumi
This is a gathering of Lovers.
In this gathering
there is no high, no low,
no smart, no ignorant,
no special assembly,
no m discourse,
no proper schooling required.
At that place is no master,
no disciple.
— Rumi
Because I Cannot Sleep
Considering I cannot slumber
I brand music at night.
I am troubled by the ane
whose confront has the color of bound flowers.
I have neither sleep nor patience,
neither a expert reputation nor disgrace.
A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my skillful manners take moved a thousand miles abroad.
The centre and the mind are left aroused with each other.
The stars and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this breach the physical universe
is getting tighter and tighter.
The moon says, 'How long will I remain
suspended without a sunday?'
Without Love's jewel inside of me,
allow the bazaar of my beingness be destroyed stone by rock.
O Beloved, Y'all who have been called by a thousand names,
Yous who know how to pour the vino
into the beaker of the body,
You who give civilisation to a k cultures,
You who are faceless only have a thousand faces,
O Love, You who shape the faces
of Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris,
give me a glass from Your bottle,
or a handful of being from Your Branch.
Remove the cork again.
And so we'll encounter a thousand chiefs prostrate themselves,
and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
And so the addict will be freed of craving.
and will exist resurrected,
and stand in awe till Judgement Day
— Rumi
You call out, I am the lover,
Only these are mere words.
If you see lover and Honey as two,
you either take double vision,
or you can't count.
— Rumi
A woman is a beam of the divine light
she is not the being whom sensual
desire takes as it's object
she is a creator it should exist said
she is non a beast
she is infinite dear
can find all this
— Rumi
Maulana'southward Last Letter To Shams
Sometimes I wonder, sweetest dear, if you
Were a mere dream in along winter dark,
A dream of spring-days, and of golden light
Which sheds its rays upon a frozen centre;
A dream of wine that fills the drunken heart.
And and then I wonder, sweetest dear, if I
Should drink this ruby wine, or rather weep;
Each tear a bezel with your face engraved,
A rosary to memorize your name…
At that place are so many means to telephone call y'all back-
Aye, even if you only were a dream.
— Rumi
I came with many knots in my centre,
similar the magician's rope.
You lot undid them all at in one case.
I see now the splendor of the educatee
and that of the teacher's art.
Dearest and this body sit down inside your presence,
one demolished, the other drunk.
We smile. We weep, tree limbs
turning sere, then light green.
— Rumi
When Love comes suddenly and taps
on your window, run and let information technology in but first
shut the door of your reason.
Even the smallest hint chases dear abroad
like smoke that drowns the freshness
of the morning breeze.
To reason Dear can only say,
the way is barred, you can't laissez passer through
but to the lover it offers a hundred blessings.
Before the mind decides to take a step
Dearest has reached the seventh sky.
Earlier the mind can figure how
Love has climbed the Holy Mountain.
I must stop this talk now and allow
Love speak from its nest of silence.
— Rumi
Dear is neither a tale nor a game.
Love is such a powerful torrent
that no one can stand in front of it.
Love is the flame which, when it blazes,
consumes everything other than the Dear
— Rumi
Should everything pass away,
it couldn't happen without You.
This heart of mines bears Your banner;
it has nowhere else to turn.
The eye of the intellect is drunk with You,
the wheeling galaxy is apprehensive before You lot,
the ear of ecstasy is in Your hand;
nothing happens without Yous.
The soul is bubbles with You,
the heart imbibes from Y'all,
the intellect bellows in rapture;
nothing happens without Yous.
Yous, my grape vino and my intoxication,
my rose garden and my springtime,
my sleep and quiet;
zilch happens without You.
You are my grandeur and glory,
you are my possessions and prosperity,
you lot are my purest water;
nix happens without Yous.
— Rumi This is the prayer of each:
Yous are the source of my life.
Yous separate essence from mud.
You laurels my soul.
You bring rivers from the
mountain springs.
You brighten my eyes.
The wine y'all offering
takes me out of myself
into the self we share.
Doing that is religion
— Rumi
Oh Dear,
take me.
Liberate my soul.
Fill me with your honey and
release me from the ii worlds.
If I set my heart on anything merely you
permit burn down burn down me from inside.
Oh Beloved,
take abroad what I want.
Take away what I exercise.
Take away what I need.
Accept abroad everything
that takes me from you
— Rumi
I swear, since seeing Your face,
the whole world is fraud and fantasy
The garden is bewildered every bit to what is leafage
or blossom. The distracted birds
tin't distinguish the birdseed from the snare.
A house of love with no limits,
a presence more than beautiful than venus or the moon,
a dazzler whose paradigm fills the mirror of the heart.
— Rumi
An Empty Garlic
You miss the garden,
because y'all want a modest fig from a random tree.
Yous don't meet the beautiful woman. Yous're joking with an old crone.
It makes me want to cry how she detains you lot,
stinking mouthed, with a hundred talons,
putting her head over the roof border to call downwards,
tasteless fig, fold over fold, empty
as dry-rotten garlic.
She has you tight by the belt,
fifty-fifty though in that location'due south no flower and no milk inside her body.
Decease will open your optics
to what her face is: leather spine
of a black cadger. No more advice.
Let yourself be silently fatigued
by the stronger pull of what you really dearest.
— Rumi
Source: https://slife.org/poems-by-rumi/
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