I see my beauty in you....by Rumi

I see my beauty in you. 
I become a mirror
that cannot close its eyes to your longing. 
My eyes wet with yours in the early light. 

My mind every moment giving birth, 

always conceiving, always in the the ninth month….

And then, an empty sky
and everything is soul and flowering.
Everything is soul and flowering.

Every thing is soul and flowering.
How do I stand this?
We become these words we say….

This poetry.
I never know what I’m
going to say.

I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I hardly speak at all.

~ Rumi

I'm loyal to the image and beauty of my beloved...by Rumi

I'm loyal
to the image and beauty
of my beloved
please speak of that image only
and say no more

Whenever you're with me
speak only about
the generosity of candles
the generosity of the sugarcane
and say no more

Don't speak of any suffering
show me the treasure that waits
at the end of the road
if you're ignorant of the path
then say no more

Last night i was in flame
my beloved saw me and said
"i'm here at last
don't tear your clothes
lament no more"

I begged my beloved
to understand my condition
to sense my fear
my love said "when i'm present
you must seek no more

I'll whisper the words
of secrets into your ear
and you must promise not to answer
just nod your head
and say no more

The face of a sweetheart
has penetrated your heart
the tenderness is all there is
your journey is the journey of love
sense it to the depth and say no more"

I asked if the face
belongs to a human
or that of an angel
"neither this nor that
sense it but say no more"

I said if you don't
identify this for me at once
my life will be shattered
"be shattered at once
but say no more

You're dwelling in
a house filled with
images and dreams
pack all your belongings
move out but say no more"

You're simply expressing
the experience of God
I said to the beloved
"yes this is the answer
but for God's sake say no more"

~ Rumi
Ghazal 2219,
from Rumi's Diwan-e Shames,
Translation by Nader Khalili
"Rumi -- Fountain of Fire"
Cal-Earth Press, 1994

With love you cannot bargain
there, the choice is not yours.

Love is a mirror, it reflects
only your essence,

If you have the courage
to look in its face.

~ Rumi
Translation by Azima Melita Kolin
and Maryam Mafi
Rumi: Whispers of the Beloved
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 1999

Spring is here, friends. Let’s stay in the garden And be guests to the strangers of the green.....by Rumi

Spring is here, friends.
Let’s stay in the garden
And be guests to the strangers of the green.

We’ll fly from one flower to the other,
Like bees making the six corners
Of this earth’s hives prosperous.

An envoy came from this fortress
And said, “Don’t beat the drum secretly.
With our yells, we would tear down the place
Where that Love’s drum is beating.”

Hear that voice which comes from the sky,
“Rise, all insane ones.
I sacrifice my Soul to the insane.
Let’s scatter our Soul today.”

Let’s break all the chains.
Every one of us is a blacksmith.
Let’s go to the fireplace where the pincers are.

Let’s fan the flame of the Heart’s fire
Like the furnace of blacksmiths.
So we can have iron Hearts
Under our control with breath.

We’ll put fire in this universe,
Incite riots in the sky,
Make his sober, resisting mind
Turn around, become dizzy like ours.

We are like a ball, without hands and feet,
Sometimes at the end
And sometimes at the beginning of the square.

Who told you we could do what we want?
Who told you we are independent?

No, no. We are like a club
In the hand of the Beloved 
We send hundreds of thousands of balls
To His feet.

Let’s be silent. Silence is made
With some material like craziness.

His mind is such a fire
That we hide this fire 
by wrapping it in cotton.

~ Rumi 
Translation by Nevit O. Ergin
“Divan-i Kebir” — Meter 1
Walla Walla, Washington: Current, 1995.
Art by Mary Leslie

Music we are ...by Rumi

Did you hear that winter’s over?
The basil and the carnations 
cannot control their laughter.

The nightingale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over the birds.

The trees reach out their congratulations.
The soul goes dancing through the king’s doorway.

Anemones blush
because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom,
and several December thieves steal away,
Last year’s miracles will soon be forgotten.

New creatures whirl in from non-existence,
galaxies scattered around their feet.
Have you met them?

Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?
A single narcissus flower has been appointed
Inspector of Kingdoms.

A feast is set.
Listen: the wind is pouring wine!
Love used to hide inside images: no more!
The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.

Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.
You say, “End this poem here,
and wait for what’s next.”

I will.
Poems are rough notations
for the music we are.

~ Rumi
(Music we are )
Art by Bryan Ubaghs

For Lovers, the only lecturer is the beauty of the Beloved...BY Rumi

For Lovers, 
the only lecturer 
is the beauty of the Beloved 

Their only book and lecture 
and lesson is the Face.

They are silent outwardly,
but their penetrating remembrance rises
to the high throne of their Friend.

Their only lesson is enthusiasm,
whirling, and trembling
not the fine points of jurisprudence.

~ Rumi
Mathnawi III, 3847-3849
Art by Karin Taylor

I heard God laughing- Hafiz Sufi Poet

A Thirsty Fish...by Rumi

I don't get tired of you. Don't grow weary
of being compassionate toward me!

All this thirst equipment
must surely be tired of me,
the waterjar, the water carrier.

I have a thirsty fish in me
that can never find enough
of what it's thirsty for!

Show me the way to the ocean!
Break these half-measures,
these small containers.

All this fantasy
and grief.

Let my house be drowned in the wave
that rose last night in the courtyard
hidden in the center of my chest.

Joseph fell like the moon into my well.
The harvest I expected was washed away.
But no matter.

A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.
I don't want learning, or dignity,
or respectability.

I want this music and this dawn
and the warmth of your cheek against mine.

The grief-armies assemble,
but I'm not going with them.

This is how it always is
when I finish a poem.

A great silence comes over me,
and I wonder why I ever thought
to use language.

~ Rumi 
(A Thirsty Fish)
translated by Coleman Barks