Jalal al-Din Rumi          

translated by Arberry

18.

Go forth, my comrades, draw along our beloved, at last bring to me the fugitive idol; with sweet melodies and golden pretexts draw to the house that moon sweet of presence.  And if he promises, "I will come in another moment," all his promises are but cunning to beguile you.  He possesses a flaming breath, by enchantment and wizardry knotting the water and tying up the air.  When in blessedness and joy my darling enters, sit you down and behold the marvels of God!  When his beauty shines forth, what shall be the beauty of the comely ones? For his sun-bright face extinguishes all lamps.  Go, fleet-paced heart, to Yemen, to my heart's beloved, convey my greetings and service to that ruby beyond price.     

 

26.

If you are Love's lover and in quest of Love, take a sharp dagger and cut the throat of bashfulness. 

 Know that reputation is a great barrier in the path; what I say is disinterested – accept it with a tranquil mind. 

Why did that madman work a thousand kinds of madness, that chosen wild one invent a thousand wiles? 

Now he rent his robe, now he ran over the mountains, now he quaffed poison, now he elected annihilation …..

Love's path has proved all drunkenness and abasement, for the torrent flows downwards; how should it run upwards? 

You will be as a bezel in the lovers' ring, if you are the ear-ring slave of the king, my master; ….. 

My son, it behoves not to beat the drum under a blanket; plant your flag like a brave warrior in the midst of the plain. 

With your spirit's ear listen to the thousand tumults echoing in the green dome's air from the clamor of the passionate ones! 

When the cords of your robe are loosened by Love's intoxication, behold then the angel's rapture, the houri's amazement! 

 

36.

You who possess not Love, it is lawful to you – sleep on; be gone, for Love and Love's sorrow is our portion – sleep on.

We have become motes of the sun of sorrow for the Beloved; you in whose heart this passion has never arisen, sleep on.

In endless quest of union with him we hurry like a river; you who are not anguished by the question "Where is he?" – sleep on.

Love's path is outside the two and seventy sects; since your love and way is mere trickery and hypocrisy, sleep on.

His dawn-cup is out sunrise, his crepuscule our supper; you whose yearning is for viands and whose passion is for supper, sleep on.

In quest of the philosopher's stone we are melting like copper; you whose philosopher's stone is the bolster and the bedmate, sleep on.

Like a drunkard you are falling and rising on every side, for night is past and now is the time for prayer; sleep on.

Since fate has barred slumber to me, young man, be gone; for sleep has passed you by and you can now fulfill slumber; sleep on.

We have fallen into Love's hand – what will Love do?  Since you are in your own hand, depart to the right hand –sleep on.

I am the one who drinks blood; my soul, you are the one who eats viands; since viands for a certainty demand slumber, sleep on.

I have abandoned hope for my brain and by head too; you aspire to a fresh and juicy brain – sleep on.

I have rent the garment of speech and let words go; you, who are not naked, possess a robe – sleep on.

 

                                                                            39

            Come, come, for the rosebower has blossomed; come, come, for the beloved has arrived.

            Bring at once altogether soul and world; deliver over to the sun, for the sun has drawn a fine blade.

            Laugh at that ugly one showing off airs; weep for that friend who is severed from the Friend.

            The whole city seethed when the rumor ran abroad that the madman had once again escaped from his chains.

            What day is it, what day is it - such a day of Uprising!  Perchance the scroll of man's deeds has already fluttered from the skies.

            Beat the drums, and speak no more; what place is there for heart and mind? For the soul too has fled.

 

 

                                                                                    43

       So long as the form of the Beloved's image is with us, for us the whole of life is a joyful parade.

Where friends unite together, there in the midst of the house, by our God, is a spreading plain;

And where the heart's desire comes true, there one thorn is better than a thousand dates.

When we are sleeping at the head of the Beloved's lane, our pillow and blankets are the Pleiades;

When we are twisted into the tip of the Beloved's tress on the Night of Power, power belongs to us.

When the reflection of His beauty shines forth, mountainland and earth are silk and brocade.

When we ask of the breeze the scent of Him, in the breeze is the echo of lute and reedpipe.

When we write His name in the dust, every particle of dust is a dark-eyed houri.

We chant a spell of Him over the fire; thereby the raging fire becomes water-cool.

Why shall I tell a long tale?  For when we mention His name to nonbeing too, it increases being.

That subtlety in which Love is contained is fuller of pith than a thousand walnuts.

That instant when Love showed his face, all these things vanished from the midst.

Silence! For the sealing has been completed; the totality of desire is God Most High.

 

 

                                                            119

 

Love took away sleep from me – and love takes away sleep, for love purchases not the soul and mind for so much as half a barleycorn.

            Love is a black lion, thirsty and blood-drinking, it pastures only on the blood of lovers.

            It clings to you in affection, and drags you to the snare; when you have fallen in, then it looks on from afar.

            Love is a tyrannous prince, an unscrupulous police officer, it tortures and strangles the innocent.

            Whoso falls into Love's hands weeps like a cloud; whoso dwells afar from Love freezes like snow.

            Every instant Love shatters a thousand bowls into fragments, every moment stitches and rends a thousand garments.

            Love causes a thousand eyes to weep, and goes on laughing; Love slays miserably a thousand souls, and counts them as one.

            Though the Simurgh flies happily in Mount Qaf, when it sees Love's snare it falls, and flies no more.

            No man escapes from Love's cords by deceit or madness, no reasoning man escapes from its snare by intelligence.

            My words are disordered because of Love, else I would have shown you the ways Love travels;

            I would have shown you how Love seizes the lion, I would have shown you how Love hunts the prey.