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Poemas Misticos
My verse resembles the bread of Egypt—night passes over it, and you cannot eat it any more.Devour it the moment it is fresh, before the dust settles upon it.Its place is the warm climate of the heart; in this world it dies of cold.Like a fish it quivered for an instant on dry land, another moment and you see it is cold.Even if you eat it imagining it is fresh, it is necessary to conjure up many images.What you drink is really your own imagination; it is no old tale, my good man.Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207–73), legendary Persian Muslim poet, theologian, and mystic, wrote poems acclaimed through the centuries for their powerful spiritual images and provocative content, which often described Rumi’s love for God in romantic or erotic terms. His vast body of work includes more than three thousand lyrics and odes. This volume includes four hundred poems selected by renowned Rumi scholar A. J. Arberry, who provides here one of the most comprehensive and adept English translations of this enigmatic genius. Mystical Poems is the definitive resource for anyone seeking an introduction to or an enriched understanding of one of the world’s greatest poets. “Rumi is one of the world’s greatest lyrical poets in any language—as well as probably the most accessible and approachable representative of Islamic civilization for Western students.”—James W. Morris, Oberlin College
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First published January 1, 1968
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About the author
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi
1,170 books15.7k followersSufism inspired writings of Persian poet and mystic Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi; these writings express the longing of the soul for union with the divine.
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī - also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, Mevlânâ/Mawlānā (مولانا, "our master"), Mevlevî/Mawlawī (مولوی, "my master") and more popularly simply as Rumi - was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian and Sufi mystic who lived in Konya, a city of Ottoman Empire (Today's Turkey). His poems have been widely translated into many of the world's languages, and he has been described as the most popular poet and the best-selling poet in the United States.
His poetry has influenced Persian literature, but also Turkish, Ottoman Turkish, Azerbaijani, Punjabi, Hindi, and Urdu, as well as the literature of some other Turkic, Iranian, and Indo-Aryan languages including Chagatai, Pashto, and Bengali.
Due to quarrels between different dynasties in Khorāṣān, opposition to the Khwarizmid Shahs who were considered devious by his father, Bahā ud-Dīn Wālad or fear of the impending Mongol cataclysm, his father decided to migrate westwards, eventually settling in the Anatolian city Konya, where he lived most of his life, composed one of the crowning glories of Persian literature, and profoundly affected the culture of the area.
When his father died, Rumi, aged 25, inherited his position as the head of an Islamic school. One of Baha' ud-Din's students, Sayyed Burhan ud-Din Muhaqqiq Termazi, continued to train Rumi in the Shariah as well as the Tariqa, especially that of Rumi's father. For nine years, Rumi practised Sufism as a disciple of Burhan ud-Din until the latter died in 1240 or 1241. Rumi's public life then began: he became an Islamic Jurist, issuing fatwas and giving sermons in the mosques of Konya. He also served as a Molvi (Islamic teacher) and taught his adherents in the madrassa. During this period, Rumi also travelled to Damascus and is said to have spent four years there.
It was his meeting with the dervish Shams-e Tabrizi on 15 November 1244 that completely changed his life. From an accomplished teacher and jurist, Rumi was transformed into an ascetic.
On the night of 5 December 1248, as Rumi and Shams were talking, Shams was called to the back door. He went out, never to be seen again. Rumi's love for, and his bereavement at the death of, Shams found their expression in an outpouring of lyric poems, Divan-e Shams-e Tabrizi. He himself went out searching for Shams and journeyed again to Damascus.
Rumi found another companion in Salaḥ ud-Din-e Zarkub, a goldsmith. After Salah ud-Din's death, Rumi's scribe and favourite student, Hussam-e Chalabi, assumed the role of Rumi's companion. Hussam implored Rumi to write more. Rumi spent the next 12 years of his life in Anatolia dictating the six volumes of this masterwork, the Masnavi, to Hussam.
In December 1273, Rumi fell ill and died on the 17th of December in Konya.
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī - also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, Mevlânâ/Mawlānā (مولانا, "our master"), Mevlevî/Mawlawī (مولوی, "my master") and more popularly simply as Rumi - was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian and Sufi mystic who lived in Konya, a city of Ottoman Empire (Today's Turkey). His poems have been widely translated into many of the world's languages, and he has been described as the most popular poet and the best-selling poet in the United States.
His poetry has influenced Persian literature, but also Turkish, Ottoman Turkish, Azerbaijani, Punjabi, Hindi, and Urdu, as well as the literature of some other Turkic, Iranian, and Indo-Aryan languages including Chagatai, Pashto, and Bengali.
Due to quarrels between different dynasties in Khorāṣān, opposition to the Khwarizmid Shahs who were considered devious by his father, Bahā ud-Dīn Wālad or fear of the impending Mongol cataclysm, his father decided to migrate westwards, eventually settling in the Anatolian city Konya, where he lived most of his life, composed one of the crowning glories of Persian literature, and profoundly affected the culture of the area.
When his father died, Rumi, aged 25, inherited his position as the head of an Islamic school. One of Baha' ud-Din's students, Sayyed Burhan ud-Din Muhaqqiq Termazi, continued to train Rumi in the Shariah as well as the Tariqa, especially that of Rumi's father. For nine years, Rumi practised Sufism as a disciple of Burhan ud-Din until the latter died in 1240 or 1241. Rumi's public life then began: he became an Islamic Jurist, issuing fatwas and giving sermons in the mosques of Konya. He also served as a Molvi (Islamic teacher) and taught his adherents in the madrassa. During this period, Rumi also travelled to Damascus and is said to have spent four years there.
It was his meeting with the dervish Shams-e Tabrizi on 15 November 1244 that completely changed his life. From an accomplished teacher and jurist, Rumi was transformed into an ascetic.
On the night of 5 December 1248, as Rumi and Shams were talking, Shams was called to the back door. He went out, never to be seen again. Rumi's love for, and his bereavement at the death of, Shams found their expression in an outpouring of lyric poems, Divan-e Shams-e Tabrizi. He himself went out searching for Shams and journeyed again to Damascus.
Rumi found another companion in Salaḥ ud-Din-e Zarkub, a goldsmith. After Salah ud-Din's death, Rumi's scribe and favourite student, Hussam-e Chalabi, assumed the role of Rumi's companion. Hussam implored Rumi to write more. Rumi spent the next 12 years of his life in Anatolia dictating the six volumes of this masterwork, the Masnavi, to Hussam.
In December 1273, Rumi fell ill and died on the 17th of December in Konya.
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Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews
March 24, 2020
Esotericism, anthroposophy, New Age and other vague spiritualities are not my thing. That may be a flaw, but I cannot (any more) change my down-to-earth disposition (my wife agrees 😊). Yet I ventured into this Rumi. The 13th century Islamic poet is a real hype these last decades. His melodious and profound-looking verses are ubiquitous. Unfortunately, these usually are the result of major editing. Especially a certain Coleman Barks has been profilic in this regard, without knowing a word of Persian, the language Rumi mostly wrote in. You can find a nice overview of all aberrations concerning Rumi on this site: http://www.dar-al-masnavi.org/correct....
Fortunately, there are those who have gone out of their way to produce a reliable translation. In the mid 20th century, Cambridge Professor A.J. Arberry completed the present (selective) translation of the "Divan", the mystical poems of Rumi. It is – he concedes – a very literal translation, which mainly follows the meaning and much less the literary aspect. Of course, that reads less smoothly, especially because the many references of Rumi to islamic religion and culture do require some prior knowledge.
Mystical poetry, it is not an easy genre in any religion, especially because of the intensity and magnificence that characterizes this poetry, often with hermetic content. This is certainly also the case with Rumi, but at the same time his mystical lyricism is also more accessible. After all, Rumi addresses his love lyric not only to the Almighty, but strikingly also to his great dervish teacher Shams al-Din. With Rumi, becoming annihilated in the spiritual master is the necessary step to be able to become annihilated in God/Allah. That may provide a certain ambiguity, but it is more concrete to imagine. Nature also often is present in his verses (which is also a constant in mystical poetry), and this regularly produces gems. Still, reading this book remains hard work and I have to confess it did not really resonate. My guess is that Rumi's best known work, the Masnavi, may be more accessible. Maybe I should try that.
Fortunately, there are those who have gone out of their way to produce a reliable translation. In the mid 20th century, Cambridge Professor A.J. Arberry completed the present (selective) translation of the "Divan", the mystical poems of Rumi. It is – he concedes – a very literal translation, which mainly follows the meaning and much less the literary aspect. Of course, that reads less smoothly, especially because the many references of Rumi to islamic religion and culture do require some prior knowledge.
Mystical poetry, it is not an easy genre in any religion, especially because of the intensity and magnificence that characterizes this poetry, often with hermetic content. This is certainly also the case with Rumi, but at the same time his mystical lyricism is also more accessible. After all, Rumi addresses his love lyric not only to the Almighty, but strikingly also to his great dervish teacher Shams al-Din. With Rumi, becoming annihilated in the spiritual master is the necessary step to be able to become annihilated in God/Allah. That may provide a certain ambiguity, but it is more concrete to imagine. Nature also often is present in his verses (which is also a constant in mystical poetry), and this regularly produces gems. Still, reading this book remains hard work and I have to confess it did not really resonate. My guess is that Rumi's best known work, the Masnavi, may be more accessible. Maybe I should try that.
January 16, 2017
Since we have fallen into the clutches of love, what matters it
if we lose harp or reed pipe?
if we lose harp or reed pipe?
May 1, 2013
This book is absolutely beautiful. It is a collection of the passionate words of Rumi - timeless words about love, majesty, beauty, passion. If you love Rumi quotes, this is a Must book to have.
February 8, 2016
Rumi had me rolling in the feels
****
In separation, the lover is like a name empty of meaning; but
a meaning such as belovedness has no need of names.
You are the sea, I am a fish—hold me as you desire; show
compassion, exercise kingly power—without you, I remain
alone.
****
If you do not know Love, question the nights, ask o
cheek and the dryness of the lips.
Just as the water relates about the stars and the moon
so the physical forms relate about intellect and spirit.
****
Love, you have filched my heart by trickery and cunning; you
lied—God forfend!—but sweetly and charmingly.
I desire to mention you, Love, with gratitude; but I am distraught with you, and my thought and reason are confused.
Were I to praise Love in a hundred thousand languages,
Love’s beauty far surpasses all such stammerings.
****
****
In separation, the lover is like a name empty of meaning; but
a meaning such as belovedness has no need of names.
You are the sea, I am a fish—hold me as you desire; show
compassion, exercise kingly power—without you, I remain
alone.
****
If you do not know Love, question the nights, ask o
cheek and the dryness of the lips.
Just as the water relates about the stars and the moon
so the physical forms relate about intellect and spirit.
****
Love, you have filched my heart by trickery and cunning; you
lied—God forfend!—but sweetly and charmingly.
I desire to mention you, Love, with gratitude; but I am distraught with you, and my thought and reason are confused.
Were I to praise Love in a hundred thousand languages,
Love’s beauty far surpasses all such stammerings.
****
December 14, 2012
I got addicted to rumi for a while there
June 6, 2016
The bird of my heart has again begun to flutter, the parrot of my soul has begun to chew sugar.
November 25, 2017
Lette nei giorni di Natale. Molto belle!
December 24, 2024
"Ora rosa tu cresci in me, ora spina;
ora sento di rosa or colgo spine."
"Quando lo specchio è puro di forme, riceve ogni forma,
e quel purissimo volto non svergogna il volto di alcuno.
Se vuoi uno specchio puro, contémplati entro te stesso,
ché quello specchio non teme né ha vergogna del vero.
E se un volto di ferro trova, a forbirlo, tanta purezza,
ché sarà mai del volto del Cuore che non sa polvere e ruggine?"
"Considera l’Anima come fontana e le opere sue come rivoli:
finché la fonte dura ne scorrono freschi i ruscelli.
Via dal cervello il dolore, e di quest’acqua pur bevi;
non temer che si secchi, è acqua senza sponde!"
"Taci, ormai libero da pena di parole, e più non dormire,
ché hai preso rifugio presso un simile dolcissimo Amico!"
ora sento di rosa or colgo spine."
"Quando lo specchio è puro di forme, riceve ogni forma,
e quel purissimo volto non svergogna il volto di alcuno.
Se vuoi uno specchio puro, contémplati entro te stesso,
ché quello specchio non teme né ha vergogna del vero.
E se un volto di ferro trova, a forbirlo, tanta purezza,
ché sarà mai del volto del Cuore che non sa polvere e ruggine?"
"Considera l’Anima come fontana e le opere sue come rivoli:
finché la fonte dura ne scorrono freschi i ruscelli.
Via dal cervello il dolore, e di quest’acqua pur bevi;
non temer che si secchi, è acqua senza sponde!"
"Taci, ormai libero da pena di parole, e più non dormire,
ché hai preso rifugio presso un simile dolcissimo Amico!"
May 9, 2019
The only way I can praise with justice Rumi's poetry -- which I have been enamored to with an impoverishment thus far for I had been reading those unjust translations of Coleman Barks -- is without the artful bragging of my words. So I merely leave this here:
"Silence! For if I were to utter his subtleties you would come forth from yourself, neither door nor roof would remain to you."
"Silence! For if I were to utter his subtleties you would come forth from yourself, neither door nor roof would remain to you."
May 28, 2024
One of the bests poems books I have ever read. Rumi is a great poet and his view of the world in enchantingly beautiful.
September 16, 2014
Let's keep this short and sweet...it's Rumi. Anything Rumi is an automatic 5 stars in my book. He's incredibly gifted in describing the innermost corners of your heart. Whatever you desire, he can write...and write well. I've turned people in poetry lovers by showing them his work. If that doesn't convince you, I don't know what will.
September 27, 2015
This book is indeed mystical. Reading his wonderful work sometimes makes me feel that his existence was a myth. His infinite world is truly seductive and it's tough to imagine his physical existence. But indeed, he transcended beyond it. Totally enchanted!
Read
February 18, 2016Bam! Absolutely truthful in any time- Rumi's poetry rings clear timelessly. This edition is chock full of wonderful phrasing and vocabulary. Hits the heart, the head and the spirit.
February 15, 2015
Absolutely in love with this compilation of Rumi's work.
October 18, 2025
💌My sufi path truly began with this book. Although, the seed had been planted long ago by my forefathers.
Enough, for the veil of speech has begun to spin a curtain around you. 💭
The soul, a stranger in the world, is yearning for the city of placelessness
Do not stir the clay every moment, so that your water may become clear, so that your dregs may be illumined, so that your pains may be cured. ⚡
Songs are all but a branch of the yearning for union; branch and root are never comparable.
Know that the branch of Love is in pre-eternity and its roots 🌿
God knows what melancholy madness there is in Love!
In love all things are transformed 🌀
Love resides not in science and learning, scrolls and pages; 📜
whatever men chatter about, that way is not the lovers’ way.
The lover is a mountain, not a straw to be blown away by the wind 🌬️ 🏔️
We are exiles in separation; O kings, give ear to us—“To God is the returning.”
Advice from anyone is never of profit to lovers; love is not the kind of torrent that anyone can dam up. 🌀
🕯️I will never finish reading this because it speaks to me of the love I strive to embody.🕯️
"This wakeful heart is a lantern." 🌞
Enough, for the veil of speech has begun to spin a curtain around you. 💭
The soul, a stranger in the world, is yearning for the city of placelessness
Do not stir the clay every moment, so that your water may become clear, so that your dregs may be illumined, so that your pains may be cured. ⚡
Songs are all but a branch of the yearning for union; branch and root are never comparable.
Know that the branch of Love is in pre-eternity and its roots 🌿
God knows what melancholy madness there is in Love!
In love all things are transformed 🌀
Love resides not in science and learning, scrolls and pages; 📜
whatever men chatter about, that way is not the lovers’ way.
The lover is a mountain, not a straw to be blown away by the wind 🌬️ 🏔️
We are exiles in separation; O kings, give ear to us—“To God is the returning.”
Advice from anyone is never of profit to lovers; love is not the kind of torrent that anyone can dam up. 🌀
🕯️I will never finish reading this because it speaks to me of the love I strive to embody.🕯️
"This wakeful heart is a lantern." 🌞
September 27, 2021
"The soul, a stranger in the world, is yearning for the city of placeness."
"In separation, the lover is like a name empty of meaning"
"My body is like the moon, melting away out of love"
"Do not consider yourself's self so worthless and without antagonist; the world is in quest of gold and your self is the mine of gold.
"In separation, the lover is like a name empty of meaning"
"My body is like the moon, melting away out of love"
"Do not consider yourself's self so worthless and without antagonist; the world is in quest of gold and your self is the mine of gold.
May 24, 2022
Before this, twenty thousand desires were mine; in my passion for him, not one single aspiration has remained to me.
Perchance you find no men to talk with, that you have fallen silent? Perchance you see no man to be intimate with your words?
Perchance you find no men to talk with, that you have fallen silent? Perchance you see no man to be intimate with your words?
June 14, 2023
Mio primo contatto con la poesia (nonché la letteratura in senso lato) persiana e ne sono rimasto ammaliato, specie all'equilibrio tra estasi corporea e spirituale che caratterizza il misticismo dei dervisci.
Leggerò sicuramente altro.
Leggerò sicuramente altro.
November 17, 2025
A book that is very different from others, the texts are not as simple and fluid as those normally found on the internet or in other books, but the poetry behind which Rumi wanted to convey profound thoughts is very evident. As it is not a long book, it is a quick read.
September 9, 2020
You are my soul, and without my soul I know not how to
live; you are my eyes, and without you I have not a seeing eye.
live; you are my eyes, and without you I have not a seeing eye.
Read
July 22, 2022Estraneo
December 18, 2016
Quando San Francesco d’Assisi morì questo suo fratello orientale aveva diciannove anni. San Francesco aveva predicato agli uccelli; lui avrebbe predicato ai cani e alle rane di uno stagno. San Francesco aveva fondato il Terzo Ordine Francescano; lui avrebbe fondato la "Confraternita dei Dervisci ruotanti" che ancora oggi ha la sede presso la sua tomba, nella città turca di Konya.
Ebbe una vocazione tardiva. Aveva 37 anni quando la sua quieta vita di teologo fu sconvolta dall’incontro con Shams di Tabriz, un rozzo e vernacolare invasato di Dio, a cui si legò d’amore e che scelse per guida spirituale. Shams, l’invasato, entrò un giorno nel luogo dove insegnava e, indicando una pila di libri, gli chiese: “Che roba è?”. L’altro, l’intellettuale, rispose: ”A te che importa?”. Smams fece un cenno e i libri furono consumati dal fuoco. L’intellettuale chiese: “Che roba è?” E Shams: “A te che importa?”.
Da poco era morto Averroè e stanchi di razionalismo e di libri, gli uomini dell’Islam cercavano una “filosofia del cuore”. Su questa strada si incamminò anche l’amico di Shams, l’immenso poeta che visse e danzò nelle strade di Konya. Così parlava a Dio: “Tu hai montato questa faccenda dell’Io e del Tu per giocare con te stesso il bel gioco della Seduzione”. E così descrisse il destino degli uomini: “Noi siamo come leoni, ma leoni dipinti su una bandiera; spinti dal vento si lanciano a ogni istante: visibili i loro slanci, invisibile il vento”. Questo è Rumi.
Ho bisogno d'un amante che,
ogni qual volta si levi,
produca finimondi di fuoco
da ogni parte del mondo!
Voglio un cuore come inferno
che soffochi il fuoco dell'inferno
sconvolga duecento mari
e non rifugga dall'onde!
Un Amante che avvolga i cieli
come lini attorno alla mano
e appenda,come lampadario,
il Cero dell'Eternità,entri in
lotta come un leone,
valente come Leviathan,
non lasci nulla che se stesso,
e con se stesso anche combatta,
e, strappati con la sua luce i
settecento veli del cuore,
dal suo trono eccelso scenda
il grido di richiamo sul mondo;
e,quando,dal settimo mare si volgerà
ai monti Qàf misteriosi da
quell'oceano lontano spanda
perle in seno alla polvere!
---
Se qualcuno vi domandasse come sono le huri,
mostrate il vostro volto e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede della luna,
arrampicatevi sul tetto e dite: così!
Se qualcuno cerca una fata,
lasciatelo che vedano la vostra espressione,
Se qualcuno vi chiede l'odore del muschio,
sciogliete i vostri capelli e dite: è così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede: "Come fanno le nuvole a coprire la luna?"
slegate i lacci del vostro abito, nodo per nodo e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede: "Come Gesù resuscitò il morto?"
baciatemi sulle labbra e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede: "Come sono coloro uccisi per amore?"
mandateli a me e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede quanto sono alto,
mostrategli le vostre sopracciglia e dite: così!
---
L'amante perfetto
Sai tu che cosa dice il rabab,
parlando di lacrime
e di dolore bruciante?
Dice: "sono scorza rimasta
lontana dal midollo: perché
non dovrei piangere
nel tormento della separazione?"
Morite, morite
Morite, morite, di questo amore morite,
se d'amore morirete, tutti Spirito sarete!
Morite, morite, di questa morte non paventate,
da questa terra su volate e i cieli in pugno afferrate!
Morite, morite, da questa carne morite,
non è che laccio la carne, e voi ne siete legati!
Prendete, prendete la zappa per scavar la prigione!
Spezzato che avrete il muro, sarete principi, emiri!
Morite, morite davanti al sovrano bellissimo:
morti che avanti a lui sarete, sarete sultani e ministri!
Morite, morite, uscite da questa nube
usciti che ne sarete, Luna lucente sarete!
Tacete, tacete, il silenzio è sussurro di morte;
tutta la vita è in questo: siate un flauto silente.
Ebbe una vocazione tardiva. Aveva 37 anni quando la sua quieta vita di teologo fu sconvolta dall’incontro con Shams di Tabriz, un rozzo e vernacolare invasato di Dio, a cui si legò d’amore e che scelse per guida spirituale. Shams, l’invasato, entrò un giorno nel luogo dove insegnava e, indicando una pila di libri, gli chiese: “Che roba è?”. L’altro, l’intellettuale, rispose: ”A te che importa?”. Smams fece un cenno e i libri furono consumati dal fuoco. L’intellettuale chiese: “Che roba è?” E Shams: “A te che importa?”.
Da poco era morto Averroè e stanchi di razionalismo e di libri, gli uomini dell’Islam cercavano una “filosofia del cuore”. Su questa strada si incamminò anche l’amico di Shams, l’immenso poeta che visse e danzò nelle strade di Konya. Così parlava a Dio: “Tu hai montato questa faccenda dell’Io e del Tu per giocare con te stesso il bel gioco della Seduzione”. E così descrisse il destino degli uomini: “Noi siamo come leoni, ma leoni dipinti su una bandiera; spinti dal vento si lanciano a ogni istante: visibili i loro slanci, invisibile il vento”. Questo è Rumi.
Ho bisogno d'un amante che,
ogni qual volta si levi,
produca finimondi di fuoco
da ogni parte del mondo!
Voglio un cuore come inferno
che soffochi il fuoco dell'inferno
sconvolga duecento mari
e non rifugga dall'onde!
Un Amante che avvolga i cieli
come lini attorno alla mano
e appenda,come lampadario,
il Cero dell'Eternità,entri in
lotta come un leone,
valente come Leviathan,
non lasci nulla che se stesso,
e con se stesso anche combatta,
e, strappati con la sua luce i
settecento veli del cuore,
dal suo trono eccelso scenda
il grido di richiamo sul mondo;
e,quando,dal settimo mare si volgerà
ai monti Qàf misteriosi da
quell'oceano lontano spanda
perle in seno alla polvere!
---
Se qualcuno vi domandasse come sono le huri,
mostrate il vostro volto e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede della luna,
arrampicatevi sul tetto e dite: così!
Se qualcuno cerca una fata,
lasciatelo che vedano la vostra espressione,
Se qualcuno vi chiede l'odore del muschio,
sciogliete i vostri capelli e dite: è così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede: "Come fanno le nuvole a coprire la luna?"
slegate i lacci del vostro abito, nodo per nodo e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede: "Come Gesù resuscitò il morto?"
baciatemi sulle labbra e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede: "Come sono coloro uccisi per amore?"
mandateli a me e dite: così!
Se qualcuno vi chiede quanto sono alto,
mostrategli le vostre sopracciglia e dite: così!
---
L'amante perfetto
Sai tu che cosa dice il rabab,
parlando di lacrime
e di dolore bruciante?
Dice: "sono scorza rimasta
lontana dal midollo: perché
non dovrei piangere
nel tormento della separazione?"
Morite, morite
Morite, morite, di questo amore morite,
se d'amore morirete, tutti Spirito sarete!
Morite, morite, di questa morte non paventate,
da questa terra su volate e i cieli in pugno afferrate!
Morite, morite, da questa carne morite,
non è che laccio la carne, e voi ne siete legati!
Prendete, prendete la zappa per scavar la prigione!
Spezzato che avrete il muro, sarete principi, emiri!
Morite, morite davanti al sovrano bellissimo:
morti che avanti a lui sarete, sarete sultani e ministri!
Morite, morite, uscite da questa nube
usciti che ne sarete, Luna lucente sarete!
Tacete, tacete, il silenzio è sussurro di morte;
tutta la vita è in questo: siate un flauto silente.
November 19, 2018
Poems too obscure without explanation or annotation; all the other text too esoteric.
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