Rumi
Rumi
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, Mawlānā/Mevlânâ, Mevlevî/Mawlawī, and more popularly simply as Rumi, was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic. Rumi's influence transcends national borders and ethnic divisions: Iranians, Tajiks, Turks, Greeks, Pashtuns, other Central Asian Muslims, and the Muslims of South Asia have greatly appreciated his spiritual legacy for the past seven centuries. His poems have been widely translated into many of the world's languages and transposed into...
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth30 September 1207
Love so needs to love that it will endure almost anything, even abuse, just to flicker for a moment. But the sky's mouth is kind, its song will never hurt you, for I sing those words.
Sing to me in the silence of your heart and I will rise up to hear your triumphant song.
You’re a song, a wished-for song.
All Religions. All This Singing. One Song. Peace Be With You.
There are many ways to the Divine. I have chosen the ways of song, dance, and laughter.
All religions, all this singing, one song. The differences are just illusion and vanity. The sun’s light looks a little different on this wall than it does on that wall, and a lot different on this other one, but it’s still one light.
Watch for all that beauty reflecting from you and sing a love song to your existence.
We Are All the Same Listen to the reeds as they sway apart; Hear them speak of lost friends. At birth, you were cut from your bed, Crying and grasping in separation. Everyone listens, knowing your song. You yearn for others who know your name, And the words to your lament. We are all the same, all the same, Longing to find our way back; Back to the one, back to the only one.
I am amazed at the seeker of purity When time for polishing comes Complaints of harsh treatment Love is a lawsuit Without evidence, you will not win My son, when one beats the rug The beating is not intended against the rug But against the dust inside the rug My son, that harsh treatment Is not intended against you But against the ill qualities inside you
Let your throat-song be clear and strong enough to make an emperor fall full-length suppliant, at the door.
Know, son, that everything in the universe is a pitcher brimming with wisdom and beauty, the universe is a drop of the 'Tigris of His beauty, this beauty was a Hidden Treasure so full it burst open and made the earth more radiant than the heavens.
In the house of lovers, the music never stops, the walls are made of songs & the floor dances
Nightingales are put in cages because their songs give pleasure. Whoever heard of keeping a crow?
When the rose is gone and the garden faded you will no longer hear the nightingale's song. The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil. The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing. If love withholds its strengthening care, the lover is left like a bird without care, the lover is left like a bird without wings. How will I be awake and aware if the light of the Beloved is absent? Love wills that this Word be brought forth.