Love Poem by Rumi
The springtime of Lovers has come, that this dust bowl may become a garden;
The proclamation of heaven has come, that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
The sea becomes full of pearls, the salt marsh becomes sweet,
The stone becomes a ruby from the mine, the body becomes wholly soul.
The intellectual is always showing off, the lover is always getting lost.
The intellectual runs away afraid of drowning;
The whole business of love is to drown in the sea.
Intellectuals plan their repose; Lovers are ashamed to rest.
The lover is always alone even surrounded by people;
Like water and oil the lover remains apart.
The man who goes to the trouble of giving advice to a lover gets nothing.
He's mocked by passion.
Love is like musk. It attracts attention.
Love is a tree, and the lovers are its shade.
Love has nothing to do with
the five senses and the six directions:
Love’s goal is only to experience,
the attraction exerted by the Beloved.
Afterwards, perhaps, permission will come from God:
The secrets that ought to be told with be told
With eloquence nearer to the understanding
That these subtle confusing allusions
The secret is partner with none but the knower of the secret:
In the skeptic's ear the secret is no secret at all.