Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sheherazad Feb 2019
Your exhausted heart longs
for the pillow
of my beating one
As much as
your weary head
yearns to rest
there too

But do not cry,
my love
That we are apart
in this world.
What is separation
for a single soul?

We are two aspects
of a single breath
Think of
how deeply we are exhaling
Oh,
  what a relief it is
to have found you!
though you were in me all along

We are not apart
No, not really
For we cannot be parted
How does one sever an ocean
Or an eternal flame?
You are not my life
But we are life itself
Together

And look how much we are living it.

Life is a veil
And we are the riders
Carrying opposite corners
to vast expanses
Spreading it over the world
and coloring gardens beneath
in the deep scarlet
of our undying hearts

Do not cry, my love.

We are a compound
that cannot be split.
    We were always
    one element
    anyway.

@Sheherazad.poetry
Originally published on my poetry IG @sheherazad.poetry. You can also follow me personally on @soraya.beheshti
Sergio Lira Jan 2019
Cada respiración es una canción de amor
De izquierda a derecha, nos rebasa
Regresaremos al mundo del más allá.
A tal destino nadie puede desafiar.

Venimos de los cielos
Ahí fraternizamos con los Ángeles
Al mismo lugar nos elevaremos
A esa ciudad, pasando los siete cielos.

Estamos por encima de los cielos
y trascendemos a los ángeles
¿Por qué deberíamos transigir?
La Casa de las Canciones es nuestro destino.

Vivamos con buena Fortuna
El destino es contradictorio,
Alegres a nuestras vidas demos
La victoria del orgullo mundano.

El dulce aroma de esta brisa
Brota del rizo de ese cabello
Radiante fantasía sobre sus rodillas
Sobre de esa cara gustoso se fija.

Las personas son como los dementes
Nacen del mar del alma
Manténgase a flote muchas lunas
Al mar, el demente, controla.

Desde ese mar llegó la ola
Mientras el barco tomaba forma
Del naufragio nadie podría salvarse
Volviendo al mar por esa tormenta.

Lo que parecía malo, era la gracia
la amabilidad estaba en la ira de la ola
El amanecer de la conciencia aparece
Iluminando ese camino divino.

Desde Tabriz comenzó a brillar
La Luz de la Verdad, me llama
Tu luz que siendo la Distinta Luz
Divina, no obstante, conecta todo.

Rumi-Divan-e Shams

Tomado de la magnífica traducción al inglés de Shahriar Shahriari
Vancouver, Canada July 20, 1998
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2018
What made Rumi
is not the poetry.
That's media not
the end of the discovery.

The reality, ***!
Can a bard stich
a word on it
where none nothing
can stand still?
Treading on the way
poet Rumi sings.
In response to a BBC article 'Why is Rumi the best selling poet in the US?
cleann98 Aug 2018
i am not
science
or
maths
or english.
not
of medicine
or engineering
or managenent

neither academic
nor vocational

i do not
belong
to white
or blue
or yellow
not
even
black

not
brains
not
brawns

i do not speak
of any jargon
not
professional
not
unpronessional

my place
is placeless.
my trace
is traceless.


colorless
formless.

only
a
breath breathing
human being


inhaling
the same air
of socrates
or lao tzu
or alcibiades

exhaling
the air
for more
thinkers
and
tinkerers

i am my past
and my future is i
no matter
who i was
or who i choose to be.

i will be
because career guidance week at school atm
btw based on one of my favorite works
Reza Bavar Jul 2018
Oh Jalaluddin!
You counseled me to "Tear down this house"
My House

Because I Love you
I'm taking your advice
Tearing it down

Brick
by
Brick

Plank
by
Plank

I'll start from the outside
And work my way in

People will stop and stare
"Another crazy person" they'll observe
"He's gone mad" they'll whisper as I break down the walls
"He's a fool" they'll note as I bring down the chimney
"He's lost" they'll gossip as I break the foundation
"Stay away from him" they'll warn as I sit in the rubble

"Were they right all along" I'll ask again and again
"Did I make a mistake"
"Did I burn my life on a whim"
"How do I know"
"Is it possible to know"

It's a lonely place this one
In the ruins
Tired and hungry
Gathering energy to dig
With the Pickaxe You gave me at birth

Alone
Homeless
Afraid

I Surrender...
This poem was inspired by a poem written by Rumi called "The Pickaxe"
Next page