Love... by Rumi

I am not that luckless lover, to flee from the Beloved; I do not hold that dagger in my hand to flee from battle.

I am that plank with which the carpenter has much to do, I do not shrink from the axe or flee from the nails.

I am unselfed like a plank, I think not to oppose the axe; I am fit only for the flames if I flee form the carpenter.

I am as a worthless and cold stone if I do not journey oft to rubiness; I am as a dark and narrow cave if I flee from the Companion of the Cave.

I do not feel the kiss of the peach if I flee from leaflessness; I do not catch the scent of Tartary musk if I flee from the Tartar.

I am distressed with myself because I am not contained; it is meet, when the head is not contained, if I flee from the turban.

Many centuries are required for this fortune to emerge; where shall I find it again, if this time I flee?

It is not that I am sick and unmanly, that I shun the fair ones; it is not that my bowels are corrupt, that I flee from the vintner.

I am not mounted on a packsaddle to remain then in the arena; I am not a farmer of this village to flee from the Prince.

I say, “My heart, have done”; my heart replies, “I am in the quarry of gold, why should I flee from the lavishing of riches?”

this is poem number 174 from “Mystical Poems of Rumi” (Poems 1-200) by Jalal al-Din Rumi, translated from the Persian by A.J. Arberry (Univ. of Chicago Press, 1991)

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: Rumi, Art, Love, The Criterion, Muhammad Karim
: Rumi, Art, Love, The Criterion, Muhammad Karim
: Rumi, Art, Love, The Criterion, Muhammad Karim