O one who searches for an escape route,
do you think you control life?
The King is leading you.
Don’t try to make yourself more important than the King.
He is the One who turns the poor one into the King of kings
Rubailer (2016), Rubai 4, page 424.
The Rubaiyat of Rumi, The Ergin Translations (apprxpub2024), Rubai 1087, Volume 3.
As Hodja is my witness,
I swear I will not make any vows again.
The glass of the vow is broken
as soon as I drink Love’s wine.
I swear to Your peerless beauty,
Your wine which defeats and ruins lions.
I won’t even get close to repentance.
I swear to Your sweet lips,
to Your heart which knows the secrets,
I am neither fond of this world
nor obliged to colors, to red and yellow.
I swear to Your sun-like face
and to the true value of Your words
that I am a thousand years
beyond the hot and cold of this world.
I swear to Your mind
which resembles a dark chestnut horse,
Your insignia which offers Soul,
that no one knows what kind of man I am
except You.
I swear to the blessedness of Your morning
and the uproar which comes after morning wine
that I will roll up the sky before I go.
O immortal Sultan, tell the cupbearer
that if someone comes to the assembly with a sour face,
he should serve him the sedimented wine of my sorrow.
That way, duality will disappear.
So will the difference between old and new.
Because at the sacred place of drinking,
I am separated from the crowd.
I am all by myself.
The cupbearer should offer so much wine
that that person becomes drunk, becomes a lover.
That way, he won’t be bothered
by either the echo of my voice or my cool reception.
When he becomes like that,
neither self nor envy will remain within him.
He will come to my playground pure and clean.
He will fly outside of time.
He will free himself from bait and trap.
He will turn himself into a witness
at this gambling place, without quarrel.
He will play with a clean heart like Venus.
He will submit himself to fate like dice,
saying neither, “I won,” nor “I lost.”
I will remain silent from now on.
I am neither nightingale nor parrot.
I am sugar.
I am a rose sapling.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 22, Ghazal 24, verses 216-228, pages 51-53.
Since I am the slave of the Sun,
I should talk only about the Sun.
I am not the night and don’t worship the night.
Why should I talk about dreams? Continue reading “Don’t Make Me Talk with You through that Curtain (1/28/2024)”
I have such an aspiration in my head.
Perhaps it is not a human’s head
I am in such a situation
that I am not aware of myself.
The Sultan of Love offers thousands of gifts.
All I want is to see His face. Continue reading “A Heart Full of Pearls (1/14/2024)”
Even if your Beloved is like fire, jump into that fire. Keep burning.
On the night of separation, burn like a candle. Melt.
Don’t be contrary. Make peace. Blend in friendship.
If they rip your dress,
keep sewing the dress of Union. Continue reading “Burn (12/31/2023)”
Lovers, keep working hard.
When you become free from the soul and flesh,
your heart will become free from the heavy burden of your body.
It will fly to the sky. Continue reading “The Real Sky (12/17/2023)”
Even sand has been satiated by water,
but water cannot satiate me.
There is no bowstring
which deserves my heavy, valuable bow. Continue reading “What Kind of Alligator am I? (12/3/2023)”
O frowning Friend,
How much are You asking for vinegar?
You sell it as sugar when you trade with a sugar-lipped one.
You take sugar in exchange for your vinegar. Continue reading “Out of His Mind (11/19/2023)”
I wonder if your eyes are sleepy or evasive.
No, I swear, you are trying to deceive God.
You close your eyes like a merchant
who reaches his gold once he falls asleep.
You have extended a chain, setting up endless traps.
You tightly restrain some, while you loosen the bondage of others.
As a good deed, you kill your innocent lovers
and pray in front of your martyrs’ graves.
Sometimes, like a cupbearer, you take the mind away from the head.
Sometimes, like a musician, you fill that head with melodies.
You play the ney of separation.
You play Iraq’s ney, making Buselik similar to Hicaz.*
You make the hearts and souls of poor ones
and the wounded hearts of captive ones
treasures of supplication
just with the alms of your beauty.
You tear the curtain of the firmament.
You are coy with the coyness of the Sultan.
You live with the great splendor of Eyaz,,**
stealing the crowns of sultans.
You are my love.
Does Love have any shape or form?
You dress in this shape. You are just joking.
You are an endless treasure.
No sultan’s seal could be put on such a treasure.
Even if a seal were put on one side,
you would quickly cut through it.
Submerge into this wealth and be silent.
How long will you be screaming,
clinging to hope and greed
while you sit next to this treasure?
*Iraq/ Buselik/ Hicaz Tunes of Near Eastern music.
**Eyaz The name of the slave of Gazne’s Mahmut, used symbolically to mean auspicious.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 21, Ghazal 114, verses 1236-1246, pages 253-254.
O my Cupbearer who adds souls to Soul,
for God’s sake, offer up a river’s full.
Pour that red wine into my drunken head. Continue reading “Open a Door for Me (10/22/2023)”