Rumi

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Rumi

Rumi - Portrait

Check this Mystical Sufi Poet and his fantastically beautiful material.

Favorite samples (Note:each paragraph is a seperate poem + these are translations of Coleman Barks):



Put your vileness up to a mirror and weep. That's when
the real art, the real

making begins. A tailor must have a torn shirt to
practice his expertise


Out beyond ideas of
wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field...
I'll meet you there


There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplined silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.


Dance, as though no one is watching,
Love, as though you've never been hurt before,
Sing, as though no one can hear you,
Work, as though you don't need the money,
Live, as though heaven is on earth.


I have lived on the lip
of insanity, wanting to know reasons,
knocking on a door. It opens.
I've been knocking from the inside!


Nibble at Me

Nibble at me.
Don't gulp me down.
How often is it you have a guest in your house
who can fix everything?


Who Makes These Changes

(added 31 May 2005 (CEST))

Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
and end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
and fall in.

I should be suspicious
of what I want.


On Resurrection Day

On Ressurection Day your body testifies against you.
Your hand says, "I stole money."
Your lips, "I said meanness."
Your feet, "I went where I shouldn't."
Your genitals, "Me too."

They will make your praying sound hypocritical.
Let the body's doings speak openly now,
without your saying a word,
as a student's walking behind a teacher
says, "This one knows more clearly
than I the way."


(added Kunda 13:33, 2 Jun 2005 (CEST))

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond


(added -Kunda 13:43, 24 Jun 2005 (CEST))

Love is here; it is the blood in my veins, my skin
I am destroyed; He has filled me with passion.
His fire has flooded the nerves of my body
Who am I? Just my name; the rest is him.


You wander from room to room
Hunting for the diamond necklace
That is already around your neck!


Dervish at the Door

A dervish knocked at a home
to ask for a piece of dry bread,
or moist, id didn't matter.

- "This is not a bakery," said the owner.
-- "Might you have a bit of gristle then?"
- "Does this look like a butcher shop?"
-- "A little flour?"
- "Do you hear a grinding stone?"
-- "Some water?" - "This is not a well."

Whatever the dervish asked for,
the man made some tired joke
and refused to give him anything.

Finally, the dervish ran in the house,
lifted his robe, and squatted
as though to take a shit.

- "Hey, hey!"

-- "Quiet you sad man. A deserted place
-- is a fine spot to relieve oneself,
-- and since there's no living thing here,
-- or means of living, it needs fertilizing."

The dervish began his own list
of questions and answers.

-- "What kind of bird are you? Not a falcon,
-- trained for the royal hand. Not a peacock,
-- painted with everyone's eyes. Not a parrot,
-- that talks for sugar cubes. Not a nightingale,
-- that sings like someone in love."

-- "...Not a hoopoe bringing messages to Solomon,
-- or a stork that builds on a cliffside."

-- "...What exactly do you do?
-- You are no known species."

-- "...You haggle and make jokes
-- to keep what you own for yourself."

-- "...You have forgotten the One
-- who doesn't care about ownership,
-- who doesn't try to turn a profit
-- from every human exchange."

(added by -Kunda 03:43, 9 Sep 2005 (CEST))


Cuisine & Sex

You risk your life to feed desires,
yet you give your soul short

grazing spans and those grudgingly.
You borrow ten and repay fourteen.

Most of you decisions can be traced
back to cuisine and sex. The fuel

basket goes from one stoke hole to
the next. Six friends hoist your

handsomeness and carry it to the
cemetary. Food changes going from

table to latrine. You live between
deaths, thinking that's right enough.

Close these eyes to open the other.
Let the center brighten your sight.


The soul fell into the soup
of nature and started mixing

with all manner of delicious,
and not so tasty, ingredients.

Our actions take on a tinge
of those we're near. God

keep us from bitter company!


Be clear and smiling for those who
are glad to see you. Someone who's

not, let his way darken like a pen
leaving his faltering ink trail.



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