Romance Is Dead

Love comes with a knife,
not some shy question,
and not with fears for its reputation.

I say these things disinterestedly.
Accept them in kind.

Love is a madman,
working his wild schemes,
tearing off his clothes,
drinking poison, and now quietly
choosing annihilation.

A tiny spider tries to wrap
an enormous wasp. Think of the spiderweb
woven across the cave where Muhammed slept.

There are love stories,
and there is obliteration into love.

You have been walking the ocean’s edge,
holding up your robes to keep them dry.

You must dive deeper under,
a thousand times deeper.

Love flows down. The ground
submits to the sky and suffers what comes.

Is the ground worse for giving like that?
Do not put blankets over the drum.
Open completely.

Let your spirit ear listen
to the green dome’s passionate murmur.

Let the cords of your robe be untied.
Shiver in this new love
beyond all above and below.

The sun rises,
but which way does the night go?

I have no more words.
Let the soul speak
with the silent articulation of a face.

- -Rumi, “Beyond Love Stories”
(via semperaugustus)

8 months ago 180 notes

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