Can't get enough Rumi

My Burning Heart

My heart is burning with love
All can see this flame
My heart is pulsing with passion
like waves on an ocean.

My friends have become strangers
and I’m surrounded by enemies.
But I’m free as the wind
no longer hurt by those who reproach me.

I’m at home wherever I am
And in the room of lovers
I can see with closed eyes
the beauty that dances.

Behind the veils
intoxicated with love
I too dance the rhythm
of this moving world.
I have lost my senses
in my world of lovers...

Bittersweet
written by Rumi, edited by Deepak Chopra, reading by Madonna

In my hallucination
I saw my beloved's flower garden
In my vertigo, in my dizziness
In my drunken haze
Whirling and dancing like a spinning wheel
I saw myself as the source of existence

I was there in the beginning
And I was the spirit of love
Now I am sober
There is only the hangover
And the memory of love
And only the sorrow

I yearn for happiness
I ask for help
I want mercy
And my love says:

Look at me and hear me
Because I am here
Just for that

I am your moon and your moonlight too
I am your flower garden and your water too
I have come all this way, eager for you
Without shoes or shawl

I want you to laugh
To kill all your worries
To love you
To nourish you

Oh sweet bitterness
I will soothe you and heal you
I will bring you roses
I, too, have been covered with thorns

The Madness of Love

Only Breath

Rumi writes poetry that takes my breath away, in fact he and Pablo Neruda do 'it' for me.



Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu
Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion

or cultural system. I am not from the East
or the West, not out of the ocean or up

from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not
composed of elements at all. I do not exist,

am not an entity in this world or the next,
did not descend from Adam or Eve or any

origin story. My place is placeless, a trace
of the traceless. Neither body or soul.

I belong to the beloved, have seen the two
worlds as one and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner, only that
breath breathing human being.

This little book is beautiful Rumi: Whispers of the Beloved