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, he remains apart. The man who goes to the trouble of giving advice to a lover get nothing. He’s mocked by passion. Love is like musk. It attracts attention. Love is a tree, and the lovers are its shade~Rumi (1207-1273) translator: Dr. AnneMarie Schimmel
A glorious sunset of unity paints a symphony of interlocking colours of unimaginable brilliance, and immediately my spirit is irrevocably and irresistibly drawn into its warm bosom. So pure this inimitable quiescence, where nothing stirs but seraphic peace passing all human understanding.
My unspoken prayers soon transmute and morph into radiant pennons, rising aloft the luminous spheres on angels wings . Only prayers that still carry the Musk Rose fragrance of Agape Love may no doubt rise victoriously upwards-unfettered by tenebrous clouds of earthbound desires.
In that serene stillness, permeated by pure longing, my heart beat to rousing waves of joyful jubilation.
Let’s turn this Earth into one vast Rosarium That’s perpetually redolent of spring. It then will be our little Elysium, Where humans in fraternal brotherhood sing In one voice and concord in the Sanctum Of love divine, and our hearts purified by Cherub-blest aspergillum Will rejuvenate us all and bring Down heaven’s glory from on High…
Quietly, you came to the shore of my being unannounced to lull all things to sleep. Drowsiness and uncertainty bear your long-drawn-out indeterminate notes. I nonetheless still embrace the unsung paeans of solitude amidst lingering scents of absolute detachment. Nights unspoken dreams oneirocritics dare not interpret for none can bear the solemnity of your brumous outpourings.
Show me your impassioned thrills. Regale me the latency of silence birthed in the crucible of time! The Earth redoubtable in face of unfulfilled yearnings never stopped floating in Ocean of becoming. O tell me once again the heroic tales slumbering in distant memories, rising and falling like cadences of songs whose endings lead us to a dulcet flowing Bourne!