Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

[Rumi] (1207 - 1273 / Persia)

Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi Poems

121. This Aloneness 3/30/2010
122. This Is Love 3/30/2010
123. This Is Love 10/30/2013
124. This We Have Now 3/30/2010
125. This Will Not Win Him 3/30/2010
126. Two Friends 3/30/2010
127. Two Kinds Of Intelligence 3/30/2010
128. Until You'Ve Found Pain 3/30/2010
129. Untitled 3/30/2010
130. We Are As The Flute 3/30/2010
131. Weary Not Of Us, For We Are Very Beautiful 1/1/2004
132. What Hidden Sweetness Is There 1/1/2004
133. What Was Told, That 11/20/2014
134. When I Am Asleep And Crumbling In The Tomb 1/1/2004
135. When I Die 11/28/2014
136. When The Rose Is Gone 10/30/2013
137. Who Is At My Door? 3/30/2010
138. Who Makes These Changes? 3/30/2010
139. Who Says Words With My Mouth? 3/30/2010
140. Whoever Brought Me Here 3/30/2010
141. Whoever Brought Me Here 10/30/2013
142. With Passion 10/30/2013
143. You Personify God's Message 3/30/2010
144. Your Grief.... 3/30/2010
145. Your Grief.... 3/30/2010
146. Zero Circle 3/30/2010
Best Poem of Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

A Moment Of Happiness

A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.

Read the full of A Moment Of Happiness

If I Weep

If I weep, if I come with excuses, my beloved puts cotton wool in his ears.
Every cruelty which he commits becomes him, every cruelty which he commits I endure.
If he accounts me nonexistent, I account his tyranny generosity.
The cure of the ache of my heart is the ache for him; how shall I not surrender my heart to his ache?
Only then are glory and respect mine, when his glorious love renders me contemptible.
Only then does the vine of my body become wine, when the wine-presser stamps on m

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