Posts Tagged ‘Rumi’

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In the Arc of Your Mallet


2010
05.25

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Posted in Life, Love, Poetry, spirituality, Writing | No Comments »

In The Arc Of Your Mallet
by Rumi

Don’t go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don’t see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.

I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go
up on the roof by yourself at night.

There’s nothing worse than to walk out along the
street without you. I don’t know where I’m going.

You’re the road, and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.

-Rumi

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Because I Cannot Sleep by Rumi


2009
08.11

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Posted in Art, Books, Filipinos, Life, Music, Poetry, spirituality, Theater, Translation, Writing | No Comments »

A poem by Rumi:

Because I Cannot Sleep

Because I cannot sleep
I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one whose face has the color of spring flowers.
I have neither sleep nor patience,
neither a good reputation nor disgrace.

A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my good manners have run a thousand miles away.

The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.
The stars and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this alienation the physical universe is getting tighter and tighter.

The moon says, “How long will I remain suspended without a sun?”
Without Love’s jewel inside of me, let the bazaar of my existence be destroyed stone by stone.

O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names,
You who know how to pour the wine into the chalice of the body,
You who give culture to a thousand cultures,
You who are faceless but 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 bheng from your branch.

Remove the cork once more.
Then we’ll see a thousand chiefs prostrate, and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
The the addict will be freed of craving and will be resurrected, and stand in awe till Judgment Day.

(translation by Kabir Helminski and Lail Fouladvend)

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The Lover’s Passion


2009
07.17

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Posted in Books, Life, Love, Poetry | No Comments »

I love Jeanette Winterson!

It’s true, and every lover knows this deep in his/her heart to be true: when one loves, one becomes a stalker of sorts…

With the regretful sigh and the little blush of a lover,
ian

—

The Lover’s Passion
by Rumi

A lover knows only humility
He has no choice
He steals into your alley at night
He has no choice
He longs to kiss every lock of your hair
Don’t fret
He has no choice
In his frenzied love for you
He longs to break the chains
Of his imprisonment
He has no choice
—

It was easy for me to get in, the door was unlocked. I felt like a thief with a bagful of stolen glances. It’s odd being in someone else’s room when they’re not there. Especially when you love them. Every object carries a different significance. Why did she buy that? What does she especially like? Why does she sit in this chair and not that one? The room becomes a code that you have only a few minutes to crack. When she returns, she will command your attention, and besides it’s rude to stare. And yet I want to pull out the drawers and run my fingers under the dusty rims of the pictures. In the waste basket perhaps, in the larder, I will find a clue to you, I will be able to unravel you, pull you between my fingers and stretch out each thread to know the measure of you.

- Jeanette Winterson, “Written on the Body”