A few poems from my favourite poet who captured the essence of Sufism through his poetry.
12th Century Sufi poet, Rumi.
Translation by Franklin D Lewis in Rumi: Swallowing The Sun
Yes, even were all Seven Seas turned ink
still hopeless, infinitely incomplete!
Cut down all gardens, groves, for pens; still we'd
not come one word closer to definition -
that mass of pen and ink would pass away
the tale unfathomed, would go on and on
From Masnawi Book 4
The wise men tell us that we take these tunes
from the turning of celestial spheres
These sounds are revolutions of the skies
which man composes with his lyre and throat
We all were part of Adam at one time
In paradise we all have heard these tunes
Though clay and water fills us up with doubts
We still remember something of those songs
From Masnawi Book 3
I died to mineral, joined the realm of plants
I died to vegetable, joined animal
I died from animal to human realm
So why fear? When has dying made me less?
In turn again I'll die from human form
only to sprout an angel's head and wings
and then from angel-form I will ebb away
For All things perish but the face of God
And once I'm sacrificed from the angel form
I'm what imagination can't contain.
So let me be naught! Naughtness, like an organ,
sings to me: We verily return to Him
Know that death - the community's agreed
is like the fount of life in darkness hid
OH HAPPY DAY when in you presence,
my ruler, I shall die!
When near the sugar-treasure melting
like sugar I shall die!
Out of my dust will grow a thousand
of centrifolias
When in the shade of yonder cypress
in gardens I shall die.
And when you pour into my goblet
the bitter drink of death,
I'll kiss the goblet full of joy, dear,
and drunken I shall die.
I may turn yellow like the autumn
when people speak of death,
Thanks to your smiling lip: like springtime
and smiling shall I die.
I have died many times, but your breath
made me alive again,
Should I die thus a hundred more times
I happily shall die!
A child that dies in mother's bosom,
that's how I am, my friend,
For in the bosom of His Mercy
and kindness, I shall die.
Say: Where would death be for the lovers?
Impossible is that!
For in the fountain of the Water
of Life - there I shall die!
12th Century Sufi poet, Rumi.
Translation by Franklin D Lewis in Rumi: Swallowing The Sun
Yes, even were all Seven Seas turned ink
still hopeless, infinitely incomplete!
Cut down all gardens, groves, for pens; still we'd
not come one word closer to definition -
that mass of pen and ink would pass away
the tale unfathomed, would go on and on
From Masnawi Book 4
The wise men tell us that we take these tunes
from the turning of celestial spheres
These sounds are revolutions of the skies
which man composes with his lyre and throat
We all were part of Adam at one time
In paradise we all have heard these tunes
Though clay and water fills us up with doubts
We still remember something of those songs
From Masnawi Book 3
I died to mineral, joined the realm of plants
I died to vegetable, joined animal
I died from animal to human realm
So why fear? When has dying made me less?
In turn again I'll die from human form
only to sprout an angel's head and wings
and then from angel-form I will ebb away
For All things perish but the face of God
And once I'm sacrificed from the angel form
I'm what imagination can't contain.
So let me be naught! Naughtness, like an organ,
sings to me: We verily return to Him
Know that death - the community's agreed
is like the fount of life in darkness hid
OH HAPPY DAY when in you presence,
my ruler, I shall die!
When near the sugar-treasure melting
like sugar I shall die!
Out of my dust will grow a thousand
of centrifolias
When in the shade of yonder cypress
in gardens I shall die.
And when you pour into my goblet
the bitter drink of death,
I'll kiss the goblet full of joy, dear,
and drunken I shall die.
I may turn yellow like the autumn
when people speak of death,
Thanks to your smiling lip: like springtime
and smiling shall I die.
I have died many times, but your breath
made me alive again,
Should I die thus a hundred more times
I happily shall die!
A child that dies in mother's bosom,
that's how I am, my friend,
For in the bosom of His Mercy
and kindness, I shall die.
Say: Where would death be for the lovers?
Impossible is that!
For in the fountain of the Water
of Life - there I shall die!
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