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The drum of the realization of the promise is beating, we are sweeping the road to the sky. Your joy is here today, what remains for tomorrow?
Rumi
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Rumi
Born: 1207
Born: September 30
Islamic Scholar
Literary
Mystic
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Umm Al-Belaad
Jalālauddīna Rūmī
Ǧalāladdīn Rūmī
Dzhalaliddin Rumi
Jalaluʼddin Rumi
Gialâl ad-Dîn Rûmî
Jalálu-ʼd-ʼDín Muhammad i Rúmí
Dzhaloluddin Rumi
Celâleddin Rûmî
Ŷalāl al-Dīn Rūmī
Jalāluddīn Balkhī Rumī
Jolalud-Din Rumi
Zhaloliddin Rumiĭ
Jalaladdin Rumi
Dschelal-Eddin Rumi
Jalāluddīn Muḥammad Balkhī Rūmī
Rum
Jalāl ad-Dīn ar-Rūmī
Dschalaludd
Today
Beating
Realization
Sky
Road
Remains
Promise
Tomorrow
Drum
Joy
Sweeping
More quotes by Rumi
There is an original inside me.
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I saw many humans on whom there were no clothes. I saw many clothes in which there were no humans.
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When the ocean surges, don't let me just hear it. Let it splash inside my chest!
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Inside you there's an artist you don't know about.
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Happy, not from anything that happens. Warm, not from fire or a hot bath. Light, I register zero on a scale.
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Travel brings power and love back into your life.
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Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.
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Oh, bird of my soul, fly away now, For I possess a hundred fortified towers.
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In Silence there is eloquence. Stop weaving and see how the pattern improves.
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You had better run from me. My words are fire.
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This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say. I don't plan it. When I'm outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
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Don't be fooled by my beauty - the light of my face comes from the candle of my spirit.
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When inward tenderness finds the secret hurt, pain itself will crack the rock and Ah! Let the soul emerge.
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Beyond what we wish and what we fear may happen we have another life, as clear and free as a mountain stream.
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Why should I be weary when every cell of my body is bursting with life?
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I was there in the beginning and I was the spirit of love.
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I have no fear to burn my mouth and throat I’m ready to drink every flame and more.
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It is Love that gives joy to happiness.
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What strange beings we are! That sitting in hell at the bottom of the dark, we're afraid of our own immortality.
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Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting! They derive from a slow and powerful root that we can’t see. Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.
Rumi
