.
I said: What about my eyes?
God said: Keep them on the road.
I said: What about my passion?
God said: Keep it burning.
I said: what about my heart?
God said: Tell me what you hold inside?
I said: Pain and sorrow.
He said: Stay with it.
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
.
.
There is a community of the spirit
Join it and feel the delight
Of walking in the noisy street
And being the noise
Drink all your passion, And be a disgrace
Close both eyes, To see with the other eye.
Open your hands, If you want to be held.
Sit down in the circle
Quit acting like a wolf and feel the shepherd’s love filling you
At night your beloved wonders
Don’t accept consolations
Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lovers mouth in yours.
.
.
We have a huge barrel of wine , but no cups
That’s fine with us
Every morning we glow
And in the evening, we glow again
They say, theres no future for us,
They are right
Which is fine with us.
.
.
WHO SAYS WORDS WITH MY MOUTH
All day I think about it, then at night I say it
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea
My soul is from somewhere else, I am sure of that
And I intend to end up there
This drunkenness began in some other tavern
When I get back 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 sip 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
This poetry. I never know what I am going to say
I don’t plan it
When I am outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
.
.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you
Don’t go back to sleep
You must ask for what you really want
Don’t go back to sleep
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
Where the two worlds touch
The door is round and open
Don’t go back to sleep
.
.
For a while we lived with people, but we saw no sign
In them of the faithfulness we wanted
Its better to hide completely within as water hides In metal,
As fire hides in rock.
.
Not Christian or jew or muslim,
not hindu or Buddhist, Sufi or zen
Not any religion or cultured system
I am not from east or the west, not out of the ocean
Or up from the ground
Not natural or ethereal,
Not composed of elements at all
I do not exist, am not an entity in this world or the next
Did not descend from adam or eve or any origin story
My place is placeless, a trace of the traceless
Neither body nor soul
I belong to the beloved, have seen the two worlds as one
And that one call to and know
First, last, outer, inner, only that breath breathing human being
.
.
What the material world values doesn’t shine the same in the truth of the soul
You have been interested in your shadow, look instead directly at the sun.
What can we know just by watching the time and space shapes of each other?
Someone half awake in the night sees imaginary dangers,
The morning star rises, the horizon grows defined
People become friends in a moving caravan
Night birds may think day break a kind of darkness
because that’s all they know
It’s a fortunate bird who’s not intrigued with evening
Who flies in the sun we call shams
.
.
Go back, go back to sleep
Yes, you are allowed
You, who have no love in your heart
You can go back to sleep
The power of love is exclusive to us,
You can go back to sleep
I have been burnt by the fire of love
You who have no yearning in your heart
Go back to sleep
The path of love, has seventy-two folds and countless facets
Your love and religion is all about deceit, control and hypocrisy,
Go back to sleep
I have torn to pieces my robe of speech
And have let go of the desire to converse
You, who are not nacked yet
You can go back to sleep.
.
.
You think of yourself as a citizen of the universe
You think you belong to this world of dust and matter
Out of this dust you have created a personal image
And have forgotten about the essence of your true origin.
.
.
Do you know what you are?
You are a manuscript of a divine letter
You are a mirror reflecting a noble face
This universe is not outside of you.
Look inside of yourself,
Everything that you want
You are already that.
.
.
Hush don’t say anything to god
See my ashen face
Feel my ceaseless pain
And don’t say anything to god
See my bleeding heart
My eyes flowing like a roaring river
All that you see, let it pass you by
And don’t say anything to God
Last night, your spirit came to the house of my heart,
Knocked on the door and said
Come-on open-up,
And hush don’t say anything to god.
I bit my hands when I say you
I said yearning for you is all too painfull
He said, I belong only to you
Let your hands drop
And hush, don’t say anything to god
He said: you are my sornaa
You cant cry without my lips touching you
Wait, for I will play you like a harp,
Until then, about my melody,
Don’t say anything.
.
.
.
When you do things from your soul
You feel a river moving in you, a joy
When actions come from another section, the feeling disappears
Don’t let others lead you
They may be blind or worse, vultures
Reach for the rope of god. And what is that?
Putting aside self-will
Because of willfulness, people sit in jail
The trapped bird’d wings are tied
Fish sizzle in the skillet
The anger of police is willfulness
You have seen a magistrate inflict visible punishment
Now see the invisible
If you could leave your selfishness,
You would see how you have been torturing your soul
We are born and live inside a black water in a well
How could we know what an open field of sunlight is?
Don’t insist on going where you think you want to go
Ask the way to the spring
Your living pieces will form a harmony
There is a moving place that floats in the air with balconies and clear water flowing through
Infinity everywhere
Yet contained under a single tent.
.
.
.
But yester‐eve a lamp in hand
The Shaykh did all the city span,
Sick of mere ghosts he sought a man,
But could find none in all the land.
“I Rustam or a Hyder seek
I’m sick of snails, am sick,” he said,
“There’s none,” said I. He shook his head,
“There’s none like them, but still I seek.”
—Rumi
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