Spiritual Poetry

The Arrow of Love

I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do ?
I can neither live, nor can I die.
Listen ye to my ceaseless outpourings,
I have peace neither by night, nor by day.
I cannot do without my Beloved even for a moment.
I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do ?
The fire of separation is unceasing !
Let someone take care of my love.
How can I be saved without seeing him?
I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do ?

By: Bulleh Shah

 

Loves Portrait

Love keeps moving its secret around
forming mirages out of the unseen.

Every portrait of Love
has this blemish of perception in it.

Imagination stumbles
before the threshold of Loves Reality

but when the intellect goes blind
Love becomes our eyes.

We are shown again
what light there is

in those dark places
where we have hid ourselves.

We become the secret of Love
as it moves through the mirage of the seen.

by Eric Ashford

 

Sonnet 5

Those hours that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never resting Time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there,
Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnowed and bareness everywhere.
Then , were not summer's distillation left
A liquid prisoner pend in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft.
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers distilled thuogh they with winter meet,
Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.

by : William Shakespeare

 

At the end of a crazy-moon night

At the end of a crazy-moon night
the love of God rose.
I said, "It's me, Lalla."

The Beloved woke. We became That,
and the lake is crystal-clear.

by: Lalla (Lal Ded)

 

Our Own Buddha

Deluded, a Buddha is a sentient being;
Awakened, a sentient being is a Buddha.

Ignorant, a Buddha is a sentient being;
With wisdom, a sentient being is a Buddha.

If the mind is warped, a Buddha is a sentient being;
If the mind is impartial, a sentient being is a Buddha.

When once a warped mind is produced,
Buddha is concealed within the sentient being.

If for one instant of thought we become impartial,
Then sentient beings are themselves Buddha.

In our mind itself a Buddha exists,
Our own Buddha is the true Buddha.

If we do not have in ourselves the Buddha mind,
Then where are we to seek the Buddha?



By: Huineng

Tr. Philip Yampolsky

 

THE SOURCE

The sleep that flits on baby's eyes
--does anybody know from where it comes?
Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where,
in the fairy village among shadows of the forest
dimly lit with glow-worms,
there hang two shy buds of enchantment.
From there it comes to kiss baby's eyes.

The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he
sleeps--does anybody know where it was born?
Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of
a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud,
and there the smile was first born in the
dream of a dew-washed morning
--the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps.

The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs
--does anybody know where it was hidden so long?
Yes, when the mother was a young girl it lay
pervading her heart in tender and silent
mystery of love--the sweet,
soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.

by: R. Tagore

 

Spring

Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her -Ñ
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.

by: Mary Oliver

 

Seeking the Source

a voice out of this world
calls on our souls
not to wait any more
get ready to move
to the original home

your real home
your real birth place
is up here with the heavens
let your soul take a flight
like a happy phoenix

you've been tied up
your feet in the mud
your body roped to a log
break loose your ties
get ready for the final flight

make your last journey
from this strange world
soar for the heights
where there is no more
separation of you and your home

God has created
your wings not to be dormant
as long as you are alive
you must try more and more
to use your wings to show you're alive

these wings of yours
are filled with quests and hopes
if they are not used
they will wither away
they will soon decay

you may not like
what i'm going to tell you
you are stuck
now you must seek
nothing but the source

by: Rumi

 

You Do Not Need Many Things
My house is buried in the deepest recess of the forest
Every year, ivy vines grow longer than the year before.
Undisturbed by the affairs of the world I live at ease,
WoodmenÕs singing rarely reaching me through the trees.
While the sun stays in the sky, I mend my torn clothes
And facing the moon, I read holy texts aloud to myself.
Let me drop a word of advice for believers of my faith.
To enjoy lifeÕs immensity, you do not need many things.



By: Ryokan

 

The Silver Call

There is a godhead of unrealised things
To which Time's splendid gains are hoarded dross ;
A cry seems near, a rustle of silver wings
Calling to heavenly joy by earthly loss.


All eye has seen and all the ear has heard
Is a pale illusion by some greater voice
And mightier vision; no sweet sound or word,
No passion of hues that make the heart rejoice

Can equal these diviner ecstasies.
A Mind beyond our mind has sole the ken
Of those yet unimagined harmonies,
The fate and privilege of unborn men.

As rain-thrashed mire the marvel of the rose,
Earth waits that distant marvel to disclose.

By: Sri Aurobindo

 

The Boat Of Time Sails On

The sky calls me,

The wind calls me,

The moon and the stars call me.


The green and the dense groves call me,

The dance of the fountain calls me,

Smiles call me, tears call me.

A faint melody calls me.


The morn, noon and eve call me.

Everyone is searching for a playmate,

Everyone is calling me, "Come, come!"

One voice, one sound, all around.

Alas, the Boat of Time sails on.



From "My Flute" by Sri Chinmoy

 

Friendship

I think a while of Love, and while I think,
Love is to me a world,
Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Tween heaven and earth.

I only know it is, not how or why,
My greatest happiness;
However hard I try,
Not if I were to die,
Can I explain.

I fain would ask my friend how it can be,
But when the time arrives,
Then Love is more lovely
Than anything to me,
And so I'm dumb.

For if the truth were known, Love cannot speak,
But only thinks and does;
Though surely out 'twill leak
Without the help of Greek,
Or any tongue.

A man may love the truth and practise it,
Beauty he may admire,
And goodness not omit,
As much as may befit
To reverence.

But only when these three together meet,
As they always incline,
And make one soul the seat,
And favorite retreat,
Of loveliness;

When under kindred shape, like loves and hates
And a kindred nature,
Proclaim us to be mates,
Exposed to equal fates
Eternally;

And each may other help, and service do,
Drawing Love's bands more tight,
Service he ne'er shall rue
While one and one make two,
And two are one;

In such case only doth man fully prove
Fully as man can do,
What power there is in Love
His inmost soul to move
Resistlessly.



By: Henry David Thoreau

 

When The Sun Appears in the East


When the sun appears in the East,
I make friends with my poetry.
I see a golden disc
Right above the blue sea.
A red hibiscus is smiling at me,
Is there anybody on earth, O Sun,
Who does not long for your smile?
No, nobody.
Everybody wants your smile.
I too want you smile
And something more:
I want to bow to you
With my heart's adoration.

By: Sri Chinmoy

 

Smile for Thee

I smile for Thee, but where art Thou?
I weep for Thee, but where art Thou?
All contraries of my sorry life
To Thee I offer; to Thee I bow.

Wilt Thou remain beyond my reach?
Even beyond the reach of my love?
No, never art Thou very far.
I am Thy Heart, I am Thy Dove.

By: Sri Chinmoy

 

You Alone exist

You alone exist; I do not, O Beloved!
You alone exist, I do not!
Like the shadow of a house in ruins,
I revolve in my own mind.
If I speak, you speak with me:
If I am silent, you are in my mind.
If I sleep, you sleep with me:
If I walk, you are along my path.
Oh Bulleh, the spouse has come to my house:
My life is a sacrifice unto Him.
You alone exist; I do not, O Beloved!

Bulleh Shah

 

Ghazal of Rumi

I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.

He said, "You're not mad enough.
You don't belong in this house."

I went wild and had to be tied up.
He said, "Still not wild enough
to stay with us!"

I broke through another layer
into joyfulness.

He said, "Its not enough."
I died.


By: Rumi

 

Companion

Along the road, you were my companion
Seeking the path, you were my guide

No matter to whom I spoke, it was you who answered
When Sun called Moon to Sky, it was you who shined

In the Night of aloneness, you
were my comforter

When I laughed, you were the smile on my lips
When I cried, you were the tears on my face

When I wrote, you were the verse
When I sang, you were the song

Rarely did my heart desire another lover
Then when it did, you came to me in the other.

by Sarmad

 

Woefully Arrayed. John Skelton (1460 - 1592).


Woefully arrayed
My blode man for thee ran,
It may not be naid;
My body blo and wan,
Woefully arrayed.

Beholde me, I pray thee, with all thi hole reason,
And be not heard hartid, and for this encheson,
That I, for thi saule sake was slayne, in good season,
Begyld and betraide by Iudas false treson;
Unkindly intreted,
With sharp corde sore fretid,
The Iues me thretid,
They mowid, they grynned, they scornyd,
Condemned to deth, as thou maist see.

Thus nakyd am I maked, O man for thy sake!
I loue thee, then loue me.Why slepist thou? Awake!
Remember my tender hart-rote for thee brake,
With paynes my veins constrayned to crake;
Thus was I defasid,
Thus was my flesh rasid,
And I to deth chasid.
Like a lambe led unto sacrifice,
Slayn I was in most cruell wise.
Woefully arrayed.

Of sharpe thorn I haue worn a crowne on my head,
So rubbid, so bobbid, so rufulle, so red,
Sore payned, sore strayned, and for thy loue ded,
Unfayned, not denied, my blod for to shed,
My fete and handes sore
The sturdy nails bore;
What myght I suffer more
Than I hau don, O man for thee?
Cum when thou list, welcome to me.
Woefully arrayed.

Deyr brother, non other thyng of thee I desyre,
But geue me thi hert fre, to rewarde myne hire.
I am he that made thee erth, water and fire.
Sathanas, that slouen and right lothely sire,
Hym haue I ouer-caste,
In Hell presoune bound faste,
Wher ay his woo shall last.
I haue puraide a place full clere
For mankynde, whom I have bought dear.

Hope that isn't too hard to decipher...It's about half way between middle-english and modern english.

 

There is a candle in your heart...

There is a candle in your heart,
ready to be kindled.
There is a void in your soul,
ready to be filled.
You feel it, don't you?
You feel the separation
from the Beloved.
Invite Him to fill you up,
embrace the fire.
Remind those who tell you otherwise that
Love
comes to you of its own accord,
and the yearning for it
cannot be learned in any school.

-Rumi

 

The Hymn of Man

I was,
And I am.
So shall I be to the end of time,
For I am without end.

I have cleft the vast spaces of the infinite, and
taken flight in the world of fantasy, and drawn nigh
to the circle of light on high.
Yet behold me a captive of matter.
I have hearkened to the teachings of Confucius,
and listened to the wisdom of Brahma, and sat
beside the Buddha beneath the tree of knowledge.
Behold me now contending with ignorance and
unbelieving.

I was upon Sinai when the Lord showed Himself
to Moses. By the Jordan I beheld the Nazarene's
miracles. In Medina I heard the words of the
Apostle of Arabia.

Behold me now a prisoner of doubt.
I have seen Babylon's strength and Egypt's glory
and the greatness of Greece. My eyes cease not
upon the smallness and poverty of their works.
I have sat with the witch of Endor and the priests
of Assyria and the prophets of Palestine, and I cease
not to chant the truth.

I have learned the wisdom that descended on
India, and gained mastery over poetry that welled
from the Arabian's heart, and hearkened to the
music of people from the West.
Yet am I blind and see not; my ears are stopped
and I do not hear.

I have borne the harshness of unsatiable
conquerors, and felt the oppression of tyrants and the
bondage of the powerful.
Yet am I strong to do battle with the days.
All this have I heard and seen, and I am yet a
child. In truth shall I hear and see the deeds of
youth, and grow old and attain perfection and
return to God.

I was,
And I am.
So shall I be to the end of time,
For I am without end.

-Kahlil Gibran