Of Ruined City And The Architect

Today is 806th birthday of the master we recognize as Rumi.
I, for one, am deeply in love with the Architect for having created a city that had ruins like Rumi.
You're most welcome to explore through seventy other Rumi posts spread across the blog via this link: Rumi posts

To mark the special occasion, sharing with you one of his poems, a personal favourite of mine: بیا بیا که نیابی

بیا بیا که نیابی چو ما دگر یاری

چو ما به هر دو جهان خود کجاست دلداری

 

بیا بیا و به هر سوی روزگار مبر

که نیست نقد تو را پیش غیر بازاری

 

تو همچو وادی خشکی و ما چو بارانی

تو همچو شهر خرابی و ما چو معماری

 

به غیر خدمت ما که مشارق شادیست

ندید خلق و نبیند ز شادی آثاری

 

هزار صورت جنبان به خواب می‌بینی

چو خواب رفت نبینی ز خلق دیاری

 

ببند چشم خر و برگشای چشم خرد

که نفس همچو خر افتاد و حرص افساری

 

ز باغ عشق طلب کن عقیده شیرین

که طبع سرکه فروشست و غوره افشاری

 

بیا به جانب دارالشفای خالق خویش

کز آن طبیب ندارد گریز بیماری

 

جهان مثال تن بی‌سرست بی‌آن شاه

بپیچ گرد چنان سر مثال دستاری

 

اگر سیاه نه‌ای آینه مده از دست

که روح آینه توست و جسم زنگاری

 

کجاست تاجر مسعود مشتری طالع

که گرمدار منش باشم و خریداری

 

بیا و فکرت من کن که فکرتت دادم

چو لعل می‌خری از کان من بخر باری

 

به پای جانب آن کس برو که پایت داد

بدو نگر به دو دیده که داد دیداری

 

دو کف به شادی او زن که کف ز بحر ویست

که نیست شادی او را غمی و تیماری

 

تو بی‌ز گوش شنو بی‌زبان بگو با او

که نیست گفت زبان بی‌خلاف و آزاری


Come, come, for you will not find another friend like Me.
Where indeed is a Beloved like Me in all the world? 

Come, come, and do not spend your life in wandering to and fro,
Since there is no market elsewhere for your money. 

You are as a dry valley and I as the rain,
You are as a ruined city and I as the Architect.

Except My service, which is joy's sunrise,
Man never has felt and never will feel an impression of joy.

You behold in dreams a thousand moving shapes;
When the dream is past you do not see a single one of the kind.

Close the eye that sees falsely and open the intellectual eye,
For the senses resemble an' ass, and evil desire is the halter. 

Seek sweet syrup in the garden of Love,
For Nature is a seller of vinegar and a crusher of unripened grapes. 

Come to the hospital of your own Creator:
No sick man can dispense with that Physician. 

The world without that King is like a headless body:
Fold yourself, turban-wise, round such a head. 

Unless you are black, do not let the mirror go from your hand:
The soul is your mirror, while the body is rust. 

Where is the fortunate merchant, whose destiny Jupiter controls,
That I may eagerly trade with him and buy his wares? 

Come, and think of Me who gave you the faculty of thought,
Since from My mine you may purchase an ass-load of rubies. 

Come, advance towards Him who gave you a foot,
Look with all your eyes on Him who gave you all eye. 

Clap your hands for joy of Him, by whose see the hand (foam) is produced,
For His joy admits no sorrow nor affliction. 

Listen without ears, speak to Him without tongue,
Since the speech of the tongue is not without offence and injury.

- Rumi in Deewan-e Shams

Translation via web.