If I had the wings of a dove,
I’d fly to my lover’s side.
If I had a ship to sail.
I’d sail right over the sea.

If I was a singing bird,
I’d sing her my lament.
If I was a butterfly,
I’d flutter against her cheek.

Chorus

If words could tell the truth,
That’s the only thing I’d say,
For love must find a way,
That’s why we’re in this world.

Chorus

I’d sing in the afternoon,
Whilst the crickets call their song,
And when the evening comes,
I’ll praise her beauty.

Chorus

So I’ll hammer out my love,
At the dawn of the early morn’,
And I’ll play the message of truth,
At the light of the noon-day sun.

So let’s all sing this song,
The song of freedom in love,
For love must find a way;
That is why we’re in this world.

Chorus

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

I will remember times
When I could see the stars
And
Then sun was still
Shining.
I remember the light in my
Brother’s eyes,
I remember the warm spring of love
In the early evening –
Sounds on the wind
And time was on my side.

And now
I go
Down the mountainside,
No fears to hide
The pain again,
No pride to
Lead me astray
In the morning of my life.

I remember children dancing and
Flowers opening,
Warm, beating hearts.
I remember the cries
Of knowing we are loved –
They’re still here.

Chorus

One day we’ll meet again
In the spring of the year, perhaps
New buds
Forming,
New petals growing
In the early rain –
We’ll sing again.

Chorus

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

When work is done,
Time stands on our side.
When work is done,
There’s no need to hide the fears.
When work is done,
And truth is our friend,
We’ll find our love.

A nightingale sang,
Early in the morning,
The perfume of the rose,
Lights up the dawn.
The brotherhood of love
Brings music to the mountains,
Turns back the tides,
Makes dreams come true.

For in truth there is no end
To the love of the brothers,
The sisters who know
They are loved in the morning.

Chorus

How can we serve
If we don’t love each other,
Creator and creation
Seen to be one.
Knowledge and love,
They serve one another,
Transforming the pain
And the fears
’till they’re gone.

Chorus

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

Father, into Thy hands I abandon myself.
Do with me whatever You will,
And whatever You do, I will thank You
And remain ever grateful.
Let Thy will be done in me
As in all Your creatures.

Father, into Thy hands I commit my spirit.
I give it to You
With all the love in my heart.
For I love You, Lord,
And so long to give myself
With a trust beyond all measure.

Amen.

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

Go on your way, be easy,
Go on your way, be free.
Go on your way, be easy, my friends,
Go on your way, be free.

Carry the line you’re given,
Bring it to the waiting world.
For you there’s no time for waiting,
There’s so much that’s yet unheard.

Chorus

Don’t wait to see the answer,
Travel on, travel on.
The seeds that you are sowing
Are not yours, they belong to God.

Chorus

When you’re awakened,
What you carry is what you are.
So carry on the message,
Don’t let it die, travel on.

Chorus

There’s a new world awakening,
Awakening to life on earth,
Not there to dreams unfinished,
But here to give the world new birth.

Chorus

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

What do you see when the shining sun
Breaks through the clouds at dawn?
What do you see when the hummingbird
Scatters the morning dew?
What makes you think of smiling people,
Working hand in hand?
What colours a thought and changes the tune,
From anger and fear to flowing on?

It’s light that makes the colour visible
Before the morning comes.
That light was hidden in the heart of man
Before the world began.

What is the colour of a rainbow sky
With the thunder and the lightning behind you?
Who knows the colour of an open heart
If there wasn’t a light within you?
What makes the light shine, colouring the rainbow,
Shining from the darkness?
What colours a thought and changes the tune,
From anger and fear to flowing on?

Chorus

Who paints the colour of a rose?
Was it there before the planting?
Who touched the stars with the light of the sun?
Is there light behind the sunshine?
Who gives the life to the birth of a child?
Who quickens a glowing spirit?
Who lightens the light that changes a thought
From pain (anger and fear) to flowing on?

Chorus

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

I will not pass by this way again.
Next time you will hold the door.

When morning comes
And you’re not there by my side,
I lie awake and wonder which way you’ll hide;
In the corner of some dusty town
Or right out there
Where once you died.

When I was just a young man,
Early of years,
I knew so much of life between my tears.
But time changed so much in-between,
And soon that time turned into years.

Chorus

Man lives his life for only
One more dream.
The flame of truth is hidden in the fears.
But do we love enough to care,
And live this life while
We are here?

Chorus

Oh, man and woman loving forth
The moment, now!
Your lives will teach the road
Of truth to come.
But do not wait, the dance is now!
And we will walk the music on.

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

Deep peace of the running wave to you,
Deep peace, deep peace.

Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace, deep peace.

Deep peace of the quite earth to you,
Deep peace, deep peace.

Deep peace of the shining stars to you,
Deep peace, deep peace.

Deep peace of the watching shepherds to you,
Deep peace, deep peace.

Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you,
Deep peace, deep peace.

© The Literary Estate of Reshad Feild

You are more beautiful than soul,
more useful than eyes.

Whatever I’ve seen in myself,
I did not see it. You saw. You chose me.

I say this poem to honor that choice.
I choose to lie down in a burning coffin-bed.

Ask my eyes, “Why do you flow?”
Ask my back, “Why so bent?”

Ask my soul, “Why do you ware iron shoes on the road?”
Also ask my soul if it has met another like you,
or heard of such a thing in any language.

You’re the sun dissolving dull overcoast,
the fragrance of a field. Joseph entering this room.

Peeling oranges with a knife,
we see you and nick our hands.

Without touching the ground, you draw a line.
We turn that way. You are why
and where we go and what we do there.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 149.

A rabbit nestles down
with its eyes closed
in the arms of a lion.

There is an excess
in spiritual searching
that is profound ignorance.

Let that ignorance be our teacher!
The Friend breathes into one
who has no breath.

A deep silence revives the listening
and the speaking of those
who meet on the riverbank.

Like the ground turning green I a spring wind.
Like birdsong beginning inside an egg.

Like this universe coming into existence,
the lover wakes, and whirls
in a dancing joy,

then kneels down
in praise.

© Coleman Barks

Yesterday, you made a promise.
Today, you broke it. Yesterday, Bistami’s dance. Today, dregs thrown out.

In pieces, and at the same time,
a perfect glass filled with sunlight.

Give up on figuring the appearances,
the dressing in green like a Sufi.

You don’t resemble anyone.
You’re not the bride or the groom.

You don’t fit in a house with a family.
You’ve left the closed-in corner where you lived.

Domestic animals get ridden to work.
Not you. You are as you are,
an indescribable message coming on the air.

Every word you say, medicine.
But not yet: Stay quiet and still.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 200.

What is the deep listening?
Sema is a greeting from the secret ones
inside the heart, a letter.

The branches of your intelligence
grow new leaves in the wind of this listening.

The body reaches a peace.
Rooster sound comes,
reminding you of your love for dawn.

The reed flute and the singer’s lips.
The knack of how spirit breathes into us
becomes as simple and ordinary as eating and drinking.

The dead rise with the pleasure of listening.
If someone cannot hear a trumpet melody,
sprinkle dirt on his head and declare him dead.

Listen, and feel the beauty of your separation,
the unsayable absence.

There’s a moon inside every human being.
Learn to be companions with it.
Give more of your life to this listening.

As brightness is to time, so you are
to the one who talks to the deep ear in your chest.

I should sell my tongue and buy a thousand ears
when that one steps near me and begins to speak.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 289.

Sometimes you hear a voice through the door calling you,
as fish out of water hear the waves,
or a hunting falcon hears the drum’s Come back. Come back.

This turning toward what you deeply loves saves you.

Children fill their shirts with rocks and carry them
around.
We’re not children anymore.

Read the book of your life which has been given you.
A voice comes to your soul saying,
“Lift your foot; cross over; move into the emptiness
of question and answer and question.”

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 162.

The wakened lover speaks directly to the beloved,
“You are the sky my spirit circles in,
the love inside love, the resurrection-place.

Let this window be your ear.
I have lost consciousness many times
with longing for your listening silence
and your life-quickening smile.

You give attention to the smallest matters,
my suspicious doubts, and to the greatest.

You know my coins are counterfeit,
but you accept them anyway,
my impudence and my pretending!

I have five things to say,
five fingers to give
into your grace.

First, when I was apart from you,
this world did not exist,
nor any other.

Second, whatever I was looking for
was always you.

Third, why did I ever learn to count to three?

Fourth, my cornfield is burning!

Fifth, this finger stands for Rabia,
and this is for someone else.
Is there a difference?

Are these words or tears?
Is weeping speech?
What shall I do, my love?”

So he speaks, and everyone around
begins to cry with him, laughing crazily,
moaning in the spreading union
of lover and beloved.

This is the true religion. All others
are thrown-away bandages beside it.

This is the Sama of slavery and mastery
dancing together. This is not-being.

Neither words, nor any natural fact
can express this.

I know these dancers.
Day and night I sing their songs
in this phenomenal cage.

My soul, don’t try to answer now!
Find a friend, and hide.

But what can stay hidden?
Love’s secret is always lifting its head
out from under the covers,
“Here I am!”

© Coleman Barks

Apparent shapes and meanings change.
Creature hunts down creature.
Bales get unloaded and weighed to determine price.

None of any of this pertains to the unseen fire
we call “the beloved”. That presence has no form
and cannot be understood or measured.

Take your hands away from your face.
If a wall of dust moves across the plain,
there’s usually an army advancing under it.

When you look for the friend,
the friend is looking for you.

Carried by a strong current, you and the others
with you
seem to be making decisions, but you are not.

I weave coarse wool. I decide to talk less.
But my actions cause nothing.

A thorn grows next to the rose as its witness.
I am that thorn for whom simply to be
is an act of praise. Near the rose, so shame.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 200.

Thirst is angry at water. Huger, bitter with bread.
The cave wants nothing to do with the sun.

This is dumb, the self-defeating way we’ve been.
A gold mine is calling us into its temple.
Instead, we bend and keep picking up rocks from the ground.

Every thing has a shine like gold,
but we should turn to the source.
The origin is what we truly are.

I add a little vinegar to the honey I give.
The bite of scolding makes ecstasy more familiar.

But look, fish, you’re already in the ocean.
Just swimming there makes you friends with
glory.

What are these grudges about? You are Benjamin.
Joseph has put a gold cup in your grain sack
and accused you of being a thief.

Now he draws you aside and says,
“You are my brother. I am a prayer. You’re the amen.”

We move in eternal regions,
yet worry about property here.

This is the prayer of each: You are the source of my life.
You separate essence from mud. You honor my soul.

You bring rivers from the mountain springs.
You brighten my eyes. The wine you offer
takes me out of myself into the self we share.
Doing that is religion.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 201.

Union is a watery way.
In an eye, the point of light.
In the chest, the soul.

I don’t deserve to be with you.
Your grace draws me.

The place where ecstatic lovers go is called “the tavern”,
where everyone gambles,
and whoever loses has to live there.

So, my love,
even if you’re the pattern of time’s orderly passage,
do not go, or if you go, wear a disguise.

But don’t cover your chest.
Stay open there.

Someone asks me, “What is love?”
Do not look for an explanation.
Dissolve into me,
and you will know when it calls.
Respond.

Walk out as a lion, as a rose.
Inhale autumn, long for spring.

You that change the dull field,
who give conversation to damaged ears,
make dying alive,
award guardianship to the wandering mind,

You who erase the five senses at night,
who give eyes allure and a blood clot wisdom,
who give the lover heroic strength,
you who hear what Sanai said,
“Lose your life, if you’re seeking eternity.”

The master who teaches you is absolute light,
not this visibility.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 126.

There is a parrot in you that God speaks through.
What the parrot says, you see reflected in phenomena.

The parrot takes away what you think you like and gives joy.
She hurts you and you feel the perfect justice of the pain.

You were burning up your soul to keep the body delighted,
but you didn’t know what you were doing.

I am another kind of fire.
If you have trash to get rid of, bring it here.

My kindling is always on the verge of catching.
How can such things be hidden?

How can I talk with a raging lion inside me?
The lion that wants union cannot be contained by any meadow.

I try t think of different rhyme-words, but the Friend says,
“Think only of Me. Sit and rest in My presence,
where you yourself rhyme with Me!

What are words anyway?
Thorns in the hedge that goes around the vineyard.
I will make word-sounds unintelligible.
I can talk to you without them!

You are the consciousness of the world,
and I want to tell you what I didn’t tell Adam, or Abraham,
what Jesus held back from saying.”

Language has been qualified up until now
with signifiers denoting positive and negative.
No more of that.

The true self is a no-self.
Fall in love with the lover who disappears in a love for you.
Be water searching for thirst.
Be silent and all ear.

When spring-ecstasy floods, build a dam or everything will wash away.
Oh, let it go! Under the foundation’s ruins there’s treasure.

Those drowned in God want to be more drowned.
They can’t decide, being thrown about,
whether they love more the bottom,
the surface, or some middle region.

© Coleman Barks

I see my beauty in you.
I become a mirror that cannot close its eyes to your longing.
My eyes wet with yours in the early light.
My mind every moment giving birth,
always conceiving, always in the ninth month,
always the come-point. How do I stand this?

We become these words we say,
a wailing sound moving out into the air.

These thousands of worlds that rise from nowhere,
how does your face contain them?

I am a fly in your honey,
then closer, a moth caught in flame’s allure,
then empty sky stretched out in homage.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 113.

I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.

To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.

I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.

I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf in the cliff.

Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel.
I am also the coral reef they founder on.

I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.

The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of a stone, a flickering in metal.

Both candle and the moth crazy around it.
Rose and the nightingale lost in the fragrance.

I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift and the falling away.

What is and what is not.
You who know Jalaluddin,

You the one in all, say who I am.
Say I am you.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 280.

There are no words to explain, no tongue,
how when that player touches the strings,
it is me playing and being played,

hoe existence turns around this music,
how stories grow from the trunk,
how cup and mouth swallow each other with the wine,
how a garnet stone from nowhere is puzzled by these miners,
how even if you look for us, hair’s breadth by hair’s breadth,
you will not find anything. We are inside the hair.
How last night a spear struck, how the lion drips red,
how someone pulls at my robe of tattered patches.

It’s all I have. Where are your clothes?

How Shams Tabriz lives outside time,
how what happens to me happens there.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 214.

Don’t worry about saving these songs.
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it does not matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,

and even if the whole world’s harp should burn up,
there will still be hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift
and the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting.

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we cannot see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.

© Coleman Barks
From Rumi: The Big Red Book, page 76.