شاعر: رومی
وزن: فاعلاتن فاعلاتن فاعلن (رمل مسدس محذوف یا وزن مثنوی)
صنف: مثنوی
He is like the spirit, and the world is like the body: the body receives from the spirit (both) good and evil.
Any one whose prayer-niche is turned to the (mystical) revelation, do thou regard his going (back) to (the traditional) faith as shameful.
Any one who has become Master of the robes to the King, it is loss for him to traffic on the King's behalf.
Any one who becomes the intimate friend of the Sultan, it is an injury and swindle (for him) to wait at his door.
When (the privilege of) kissing the (King's) hand has been bestowed on him by the King, it is a sin if he prefers to kiss the (King's) foot.
Although to lay the head on the (King's) foot is an act of obeisance, (yet) compared with the former act of obeisance it is a fault and backsliding.
The King is jealous of any one who, after having seen the face, prefers the (mere) scent.
To speak in parables, God's jealousy is the wheat, (while) men's jealousy is the straw in the stack.
Know that the root of (all) jealousies is in God: those of mankind are an offshoot from God, without resemblance (being implied).
I will leave the explanation of this and will begin to complain of the cruelty of that fickle Beauty.
I wail because wailings are pleasant to Him: He wants from the two worlds wailing and grief.
How should I not wail bitterly on account of His deceit, since I am not in the circle of those intoxicated with Him?
How should I not mourn, like night, without His day and without the favour of His day-illuming countenance?
His unsweetness is sweet in my soul: may my soul be sacrificed to the Beloved who grieves my heart!
I am in love with my grief and pain for the sake of pleasing my peerless King.
I make the dust of sorrow a salve for mine eye, that the two seas of mine eyes may be filled with pearls.
The tears which people shed for His sake are pearls—and people think they are tears.
I am complaining of the Soul of the soul, (but in truth) I am not complaining: I am (only) relating.
My heart is saying, “I am tormented by Him,” and I have (long) been laughing at its poor pretence.
Do (me) right, O glory of the righteous, O Thou who art the dais, and I the threshold of Thy door!
Where are threshold and dais in reality? In the quarter where our Beloved is, where are “we” and “I”?
O Thou whose soul is free from “we” and “I,” O Thou who art the subtle essence of the spirit in man and woman,
When man and woman become one, Thou art that One; when the units are wiped out, lo, Thou art that (Unity).
Thou didst contrive this “I” and “we” in order that Thou mightst play the game of worship with Thyself,
That all “I's” and “thou's” should become one soul and at last should be submerged in the Beloved.
All this is (true), and do Thou come, O (Lord of the) Creative Word, O Thou who transcendest “Come” and (all) speech!
The body can see Thee (only) in bodily fashion: it fancies (pictures to itself) Thy sadness or laughter.
Do not say that the heart that is bound (conditioned) by (such bodily attributes as) sadness and laughter is worthy of seeing Thee (as Thou really art).
He who is bound by sadness and laughter is living by means of these two borrowed (transient and unreal) things.
In the verdant garden of Love, which is without end, there are many fruits besides sorrow and joy.
Love is higher than these two states of feeling: without spring and without autumn it is (ever) green and fresh.
Pay the tithe on Thy fair face, O Beauteous One: relate the story of the soul that is rent in pieces,
For by the coquetry of a glance One who is given to glancing amorously has branded my heart anew.
I absolved Him if He shed my blood: I was saying, “It is lawful (I absolve Thee),” and He was fleeing (from me).
Since Thou art fleeing from the lament of those who are (as) dust, why pourest Thou sorrow on the hearts of the sorrowful?
O Thou, whom every dawn that shone from the East found overflowing (with abundant grace) like the bright fountain (of the sun),
How didst Thou give (nothing but) evasion to Thy frenzied lover, O Thou the sugar of whose lips hath no price?
O Thou who art a new soul to the old world, hear the cry (that comes) from my body (which is) without soul and heart.
Leave the tale of the Rose! For God's sake set forth the tale of the Nightingale that is parted from the Rose!
Our emotion is not caused by grief and joy, our consciousness is not related to fancy and imagination.
There is another state (of consciousness), which is rare: do not thou disbelieve, for God is very mighty.
Do not judge from the (normal) state of man, do not abide in wrong-doing and in well-doing.
Wrong-doing and well-doing, grief and joy, are things that come into existence; those who come into existence die; God is their heir.
’Tis dawn. O Thou who art the support and refuge of the dawn, ask pardon (for me) of my Lord Husámu’ddín!
Thou art He who asketh pardon of the Universal Mind and Soul, Thou art the Soul of the soul and the Splendour of the coral.
The light of dawn has shone forth, and from Thy light we are engaged in drinking the morning-drink with the wine of Thy Mansúr.
Inasmuch as Thy gift keeps me thus (enravished), who (what) is (other) wine that it should bring me rapture?
Wine became intoxicated with us, not we with it; the body came into being from us, not we from it.
We are as bees, and bodies are as wax (honeycomb): we have made the body, cell by cell, like wax.
