Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, Worshipper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times. Come, yet again, come, come.
You haven't dared yet lose faith---so how can faith grow in you? You haven't dared yet risk your heart--so what can you see of reality? You're obsessed--still!--with the carnal screams of your life.
How do you hope to step into the Mystery of the King?"
---from a work inspired by the poetry of Rumi(may God have mercy on him)
The good die young. The young die good. Plato said that only the dead saw the end of war. Those who wish to have immortal glory should find glory in the Immortal
We often soften our cotton linen with the tears of the hidden orphan We trod on the sod bought with the sweat of the hidden orphan We don gems that are ****** with the curses of the hidden orphan
We never listen to the forsaken and abandoned hidden orphan .
The gentleman in the black trench coat breathed out a puff of smoke and said,through the fog, "I am a breeze of relief to some and a storm of wrath for others."
He took out a crumpled piece of paper. Read it and mumbled, "I wonder what your share is?"
The seeker runs quicker around every street, his knees getting weaker.. The city fog,getting thicker The seeker can't figure out this mystery.. Feels close but he doesn't know that the speck of gold he's looking for...........
Sorry. For all the stories, the worries you had, the gory steps towards glory This apology might get boring but before you get to snoring I went through a storm's fury
Words stand tall concrete towers They never fall full of power False power. The poet chases among the words, chasing after his Beloved his Dove his Love.. almost within reach of his fingers but The Desired eludes the poet because the concrete,unbending words conceal
I am hardly fed of the daily bread of the barley bread before I see me dead, in my head And my Friend in the Garden said, Eat,live and anticipate. Fear not,I shall wait......
A *** of date juice carved by skillful hands, the *** is beauty itself. Colours and patterns dance on the body of the ***, but as foreign eyes soak in its form...... I sip some date juice.