Jalaludin Rumis' Poems in English that Show Love and Erotic
The following is Jalaludin Rumi's poem in English. These
collected poems show Rumi's deep love for his teacher, Shamseddin. Although
love in Rumi's view is not necessarily related to something erotic, when
reading the three poems below, it is difficult to imagine it in another way.
The Greatness of Absence
Since seeing his face,
I can’t look at other people.
Once glance from him and I become drunk.
I’ve turned my body into wax
to receive the seal of Solomon.
In order to soften the wax,
I rub and knead it with my hands.
I threw away my false measures
after seeing him.
I became his flute and started crying
when his lips touched me.
I was blindly searching for his hand
while all the while he was holding mine.
I was asking about him from people
who knew nothing about him.
I was so naive.
My heart was empty.
I behave like a drunken idiot,
stealing my own gold with my own hands.
Like a thief I slipped into my garden
through a crack in the wall.
I stole roses and jasmine from my own garden.
Enough. Don’t point out my secret
with your finger.
I’ve already suffered so much at your hands.
He knows me inside and out, hair by hair,
all my rights and wrongs.
He sees everything I do.
I can’t keep anything a secret from him.
He is not the kind of sultan
who is so fond of fame and poetry
that I could impress him with verses
and long poems.
The greatness of absence is far greater
than the illusions and promises of paradise.
Shams of Tabriz is his chosen one, his beloved.
Maybe I can impress him
with the master of the time.
Love Letter to Shams
O beloved,
our union lasted only a moment,
but our separation can be counted in years.
I watched in stunned silence
as you loaded your camel.
Suddenly night came.
Pitch darkness swallowed me
as I was separated from your sun-face.
You were going.
I stood frozen, in shock.
All the good times we had
were passing away.
If I hadn’t been so confused in that moment,
blood would have rushed to my face
and a howl burst from my throat.
I would have begged your pity.
I would have sacrificed my life
hundreds of times over to you,
never mind my belongings.
I would have screamed like fire
in the dark night.
The fears of the day of resurrection
would have been unleashed.
Had I done that,
my heart wouldn’t have had to go through
the tortures of separation.
It wouldn’t have ended up in a situation
that causes even stones to cry.
Separation bends the straight arrow
of the back into a bow.
Tears become bloody;
the heart, naked and exposed.
O my master Shamseddin,
don’t break my hope
for the sake of your soul
that is already pure
as moonlight.
Your words, those pearls of oceans deep,
turn stones into rubies
and give ecstasy to everyone.
What Can I Do?
My sweet-lipped beloved
never talks harshly
and never stops serving me wine.
He undresses me every morning.
“Come on,” he says.
“I am the one who changes your clothing.”
He comes home suddenly
and doesn’t give enough time.
Whatever I do
is not enough for him.
What can I do?
I’m stunned by his glass.
After seeing him,
my body turned to soul.
Seven layers of the sky
can’t contain him.
Yet he keeps moving inside of my shirt.
“You are in my hand,” he says.
“I created you.
Why shouldn’t I break you?”
I am your harp.
Your strike your plectrum
on every part of my body.
How can’t I cry?
In short,
“You can’t take your heart from me,”
he says.
My heart is not my own anymore.
What can I do?
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