Dance when you're perfectly free.
Half-heartedness doesn't reach into majesty. You set out to find God, but then you keep stopping for long periods at meanspirited roadhouses.
Lovers don't meet in the end, they are in each other forever.
If these poems repeat themselves, then so does Spring.
Dancing is when you rise above both worlds, tearing your heart to pieces & giving up your soul
The ocean of the body crashes against the ocean of the heart. Between them is a barrier they cannot cross.
What is a tiny insignificant seed that, when Spring arrives, It should not be annihilated for a tree to arrive.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed.
Shams, my body is a candle touched with fire.
Earth tries to work sorcery on us, saying Tomorrow, Tomorrow, but we outwit that spell by enjoying this now.
This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
Even though in the world you are the most learned scholar of the time, Behold the vanishing of this world and this time!
Daylight, full of small dancing particles. Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?
The way the Beloved can fit in my heart, two thousand lives could fit in this body of mine. One kernel could contain a thousand bushels, and a hundred worlds pass through the eye of the needle.
And patience flees my heart, And reason flees my mind. Oh, how drunk can I get to be, Without your love's security?
Oh lovers, where are you going? Who are you looking for? Your beloved is right here.
I want to say words that flame as I say them, but I keep quiet and don't try to make both words fit in one mouthful.
I drank water from your spring and felt the current take me.
You have been hiding so long aimlessly drifting in the sea of my love Even so You have always been connected to me Connected, revealed in the known in the unmanifest I am life itself
The Ripe FigNow that You live here in my chest,anywhere we sit is a mountaintop.And those other images,which have enchanted peoplelike porcelain dolls from China,which have made men and women weepfor centuries, even those have changed now.What used to be pain is a lovely benchwhere we can rest under the roses.A left hand has become a right.A dark wall, a window.A cushion in a shoe heel,the leader of the community!Now silence. What we sayis poison to someand nourishing to others.What we say is a ripe fig,but not every bird that flieseats figs.
Someone who goes with a half a loaf of bread to a small place that fits like a nest around him, someone who wants no more, who is not himself longed for by anyone else. He is a letter to everyone. You open it. It says, Live.
I cannot sleep in your presence In your absence, tears prevent me you watch me my beloved on each sleepiness night and Only you see the difference
Since Love has made ruins of my heart The sun must come and illumine them. Such generosity has broken me with shame.
How will you know the difficulties of being human, if you are always flying off to blue perfection? Where will you plant your grief seeds? Workers need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire.
You run back and forth listening for unusual events, peering into the faces of travelers. "Why are you looking at me like a madman?" I have lost a friend. Please forgive me.
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