I am a child of love
I profess the religion of love,
Love is my religion and my faith.
My mother is love
My father is love
My prophet is love
My God is love
I am a child of love
I have come only to speak of love
- Jalaluddin Rumi
Abr mi barad-o man shovm-e az yar-e judaa (The cloud weeps…)
Amir Khusrau's lofty couplet
Abr mi barad-o man shovm-e az yar-e judaa
Choon kunam dil becheneen roz zedildar judaa.
Abr baraan wa man-o yar satadah ba-widaa
Man judaa girya kunaan, abr judaa, yaar judaa
The cloud weeps, and I become separated from my friend -
How can I separate my heart from my heart's friend on such a day.
The cloud weeping, and I and the friend standing, bidding farewell -
I weeping separately, the clouds separately, the friend separately..
(trans. A. Schimmel)
Allah Hoo by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
"Allah Hoo" from the Monsoon Wedding soundtrack (courtesy NPR)
Lovers have nothing to do with existence
This thirst in our souls
No sound of clapping comes from only one hand.
The thirsty man is moaning, "O delicious water!"
The water is calling, "Where is the one who will drink me?"
This thirst in our souls is the magnetism of the Water:
We are Its, and It is ours.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hich bâng-e kaff zadan na-âyad beh dar
az yeki dast to bi dasti degar
Teshneh mi nâlad keh "Ay âb-e govâr"
âb ham nâlad keh "Ku ân âb khvâr"
Jazb-e âbast in `atash dar jân-e mâ
mâ az ân-e U va U ham ân-e mâ
-- Mathnawi III: 4397-4399
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996
Persian transliteration courtesy of Yahyá Monastra
Sources of nourishment
Ask us about the lion of God
This caravan is not bringing our baggage -- it has
none of the fire of our Friend.
Though the trees have all turned green, they
have caught no scent of our spring.
Your spirit may be a rosegarden, but its heart
has not been wounded by our thorn.
Your heart may be an ocean of realities, but its
boiling does not compare with that of our shore.
Although the mountains are very steady -- by
God, they do not have our steadiness.
The spirit drunk with the morning wine has not
even caught a scent of our winesickness.
Venus herself, the minstrel of heaven, has not
the capacity for our work.
Ask us about the lion of God -- every lion has
not our backbone.
Show not Shams-I Tabrizi's coin to him who
has not our fineness!
-- Ghazal (Ode) 695
Translation by William C. Chittick
"The Sufi Path of Love"
SUNY Press, Albany, 1983
I am enslaved to fate, of all else say no more – Rumi
" I am enslaved to fate, of all else say no more
With a sweet tongue speak, else I plea say no more
Speak not of troubles, of treasures, tell me more
And if of this you know not, be not troubled, say no more
I have gone insane, Love found me, then whispered in my ear
'I am here, cry not aloud, curse yourself not, say no more'
I said ' O Love it is other than Thee that I fear'
Said ' it may thus appear, yet it is not so, say no more
I speak in you ear, to you bring secrets near
Speak with your head, confirm a nod, say no more'
I asked, ' What do I see? Is it an angel or a man? '
Said ' no more an angel than a man, is another, say no more'
'Tell me what it is, why withhold, why the flames of my torment fan'
Said ' just be tormented, confused, say no more
For leaving this colorful and false abode, you have made no plan
Rise up and just depart, leave this home, say no more'
Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi
When you dance
On the bank of the river
On the bank of the river,water is grudged by that one alonewho is blind to the flowing stream.
~~~~~~~~~~
Bar lab-e ju bokhl-e âb ân-râ bovadku ze ju-ye âb nâ-binâ bovad
-- Mathnawi II:894Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski"Rumi: Daylight"Threshold Books, 1994Persian transliteration courtesy of Yahyá Monastra
Chal Way Bullehya Chal O’thay Chaliyay – Let’s go where everyone is blind
Who is looking out?
Who sees inside from outside?
Who finds hundreds of mysteries
even where minds are deranged?
See through his eyes what he sees.
Who then is looking out from his eyes?
-- Version by Coleman Barks
Open Secret
Threshold Books, 1984
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
who is the one
who sees the external
right from within
who is the one
who casts a hundred magic spells
when watching the insane in love
try your own eyes
see how they see
who is the one
who is looking out
through your eyes for you
--Translation by Nader Khalili
Rumi, Dancing the Flame
Cal-Earth Press, 2001
I have returned, like the new year (Rumi)
Love is a mirror
With love you cannot bargain
there, the choice is not yours.
Love is a mirror, it reflects
only your essence,
if you have the courage
to look in its face.
-- Translation by Azima Melita Kolin
and Maryam Mafi
Reclaiming Pakistan’s soul
Courtesy Bluechip magazine
In a dream Sain Zahoor saw a hand beckoning him to a shrine. He could not shake off the dream and eventually at the age of 13 left home traipsing from one Sufi shrine to the next. At Uchh he recognized the shrine of his dreams and stayed there, spending his days learning Sufi music and singing. Sain is unlettered, but has memorized hundreds of Punjabi Sufi songs by sketching images on paper. When he started singing at the age of five, his first lessons were in the Sufi kalams (verses of devotional spiritual love). Now nearly sixty, he himself looks like a Sufi saint when he comes onstage clad in long kurta and tightly bound turban with beads dangling down his neck and ghungroos – (bells) tied to his ankles. His is such a compelling presence onstage and so close to what a Sufi really looks like, that Sain Zahoor is adorned on our cover. Playing the centuries old three-string lute,he delivers kalams of Sufi poets like Baba Bullay Shah, Shah Hussain and Mian Muhammad Bakhsh with ecstatic joy and intensity which ends up in a dhamal – a frenzied dance. His first onstage performance only came in 1989 when he was invited to the All Pakistan Music Conference. In 2006 he received the award for the best singer in the Asia-Pacific category at the BBC World Music Festival.
Read the rest here
Iqbal – The Universal Reformer
When will my beloved visit my courtyard
The soulful poetry of Khawaja Ghulam Farid (1845-1901) best represents the essence of Seraiki language. Diwan-e-Farid, a collection of the poet’s verses, happens to be an outstanding masterpiece of Seraiki mystical poetry that reaches the poetic excellence and transcendence found in the messages of Rumi and Iqbal in terms of exploring the metaphysics of knowledge and being.
Shahzad Qaiser has undertaken a major labour of love by rendering the Diwan-e-Farid into English and issuing another separate volume – The Metaphysics of Khawaja Ghulam Farid – that explores the vastness of meaning in Khawaja Farid’s poetry. It is rare these days to find a civil servant who can spare time to devote himself to the cause
of letters. In contrast to past traditions, present day civil service has become a vehicle for playing along with palace intrigues and extracting opportunities from the vicissitudes of power. Rejecting this trend, Qaiser appears to have shunned the ordinary power-mongering culture and delved deeper into the mysteries of divine love. Therefore, his endeavour to search for the inner meanings of Khawaja Ghulam Farid’s poetry has been eminently successful. These two volumes are highly readable and well-presented for specialists and lay readers alike.
Khawaja Ghulam Farid was born in Chachran, located in the south of present day Pakistan’s Punjab province. His spiritual ancestry was somewhere linked with the revered Baba Farid Ganj-e-Shakar of Pakpattan and hence he was named after the master saint of the family. It is the metaphysical understanding which talks of reality as the divine essence and removes the difference between Ahad and Wahad and one and many that constitutes the doctrine of ‘oneness of being’
Journey in yourself, journey out of self
Don’t talk about the journey (Rumi)
Ramadan came to the heart’s temple
Rumi on Eid
Ramadan came, but Bairam is with us.
The lock came, but the key is with us.
Mouth is closed. Eyes are opened.
That brilliance that the eyes see is with us.
Religion of the heart
RAKSHANDA JALIL writing heremendicants. While Ajmer and Nagaur remained important centres of the Chistiya silsila, Delhi was fast gaining popularity as the axis of the Islamic east. And it was to Delhi that they came – to set up hospices, to gather the faithful around them, and to spread the word about a new kind of Islam. In the years to come, the Islam of the Sufis spread
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Live a fresh story
A quatrain by Rumi
happiness is to reach
the next post every day
like flowing water
free from stillness
and melancholy
yesterday is gone and
took away its talk
today we must live
a fresh story again
Bulleh Shah – on rejecting caste
A popular kafi of Bulleh Shah, sung by Abida Parveen "BULHE NU SAMJHAWAN AAINAN BHAINAN TE BHARJAIAN" earlier posted as " A stove is better than Bulleh" am posting its english translation thanks to Shahidain's invaluable contributions.
People discouraged Bulleh Shah from accepting Inayat Shah as his master and said " Bulleh you are a scholar and a descendent of of prophet Mohammad (pbuh). Does it seem right to you to go to an ordinary gardener of low caste and become his disciple? Is it not embarrassing?" But Bulleh showed great love and reverence for his master and did not pay any heed to this objection.
Spinning with your love
I am filled with splendor,
spinning with your love.
It looks like I'm spinning around you,
but no – I'm spinning around myself!
Rumi's Quatrain 1118
-- Version by Jonathan Star and Shahram Shiva
A Garden Beyond Paradise
Bantam Books, 1992
Sufi hearts in Delhi
Published in The Friday Times (May 22 issue)
Raza Rumi discusses a new book on Sufism by Sadia Dehlvi
Getting a visa to India is a nightmare for ordinary mortals. My application was not very politely returned last month with technical objections. It was only when a letter from Harper Collins arrived that the High Commission rather efficaciously allowed me to enter enemy territory, that too with special instructions that cantonments were out of bounds. I guess the South Asian officialdoms have yet to discover that Google Earth has permanently altered the shape of boundaries and secrecy.
Polish your heart for a day or two
Stop talking!
What a shame you have no familiarity
with inner silence!
Polish your heart for a day or two:
make that mirror your book of contemplation.
His Sun always shines within me
You call him a moon,
yet moonlight fades.
You call him a king,
yet kingdoms fall.
How often you say,
Wake up, you'll miss the sunrise.
But His Sun always shines within me.
How can I miss the sunrise?
-- Version by Jonathan Star and Shahram Shiva
A Garden Beyond Paradise
Bantam Books, 1992