Rumi

 Losing my Self

I became God's interpreter.

Now, drunk or sober

I barely utter a word.

Rumi

 Cruel autumn has arrived!

The rose's red dress is torn

the willow's branches have dropped

repenting for missed prayers.

The lily has drawn her sword

the jasmine is shielded ready to fight.

The nightingale

jealous of the rose's admirers

suffers in silence.

The trees lifting their arms in despair

wonder why the buds are hidden

and who has broken the violets' back.

Cruel autumn has arrived but behold

the hope of spring for whatever

autumn destroys spring will replenish.

All this talk of roses, nightingales, and gardens

is only a screen I hide behind

because Love is jealous.

The Path To LOVE

 

Rumi

 While still in the cage of your being

behold the spirit bird before it flies away

Rumi

 

Beauty is the Garden

scent of roses, murmuring water

flowing gently . . .

Can words describe the indescribable?

Rumi

 

One day you will see me sprawled in the tavern

my turban pawned, my prayer rug stained with wine.

Intoxicated with the teasing kiss of my beloved

I see his curls dancing on the palm of my hand.

Rested, he is tempting me to stay awake

and feast with him till dawn.

How blessed I am that this charmer

entices my spirit away from this world.