It was He, not I knocking at the door
it was He within.
I caress my own breast for there He is hidden.
No one else knows you;
since you and I, I know you.
Forms become a trifle
when feeling and intuition richly intensify.
In the end a man tires of everything
except heart's desiring, soul's journeying.
Sultan, saint, pickpocket;
love has everyone by the ear dragging us to God
by secret ways.
I never knew that God, too, desires us...
Hazrat Jalal udin Rumi ra
it was He within.
I caress my own breast for there He is hidden.
No one else knows you;
since you and I, I know you.
Forms become a trifle
when feeling and intuition richly intensify.
In the end a man tires of everything
except heart's desiring, soul's journeying.
Sultan, saint, pickpocket;
love has everyone by the ear dragging us to God
by secret ways.
I never knew that God, too, desires us...
Hazrat Jalal udin Rumi ra
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