Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

[Rumi] (1207 - 1273 / Persia)

Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi Poems

121. The Time Has Come For Us To Become Madmen In Your Chain 1/1/2004
122. Ghazal Of Rumi 3/30/2010
123. Only Breath 3/30/2010
124. Laila And The Khalifa. 1/1/2004
125. Zero Circle 3/30/2010
126. Do You Love Me? 10/26/2013
127. If I Weep 1/1/2004
128. How Long 3/30/2010
129. I Am Only The House Of Your Beloved 3/30/2010
130. Confused And Distraught 3/30/2010
131. Rise, Lovers 1/1/2004
132. I Have A Fire For You In My Mouth 1/1/2004
133. Description Of Love 3/30/2010
134. I Closed My Eyes To Creation 1/1/2004
135. The Guest House 3/30/2010
136. Bring Wine 1/1/2004
137. Any Lifetime 3/30/2010
138. At The Twilight 3/30/2010
139. Be Lost In The Call 3/30/2010
140. All Through Eternity 3/30/2010
141. Come, Come, Whoever You Are 3/30/2010
142. Did I Not Say To You 1/1/2004
143. A Stone I Died 3/30/2010
144. Every Day I Bear A Burden 1/1/2004
145. Any Soul That Drank The Nectar 3/30/2010
146. Because I Cannot Sleep 3/30/2010
147. Birdsong 3/30/2010
148. Be With Those Who Help Your Being 3/30/2010
149. A Moment Of Happiness 3/30/2010

Comments about Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

  • Ozlem Yilmaz (12/4/2006 10:31:00 AM)

    Mevlana was born on 30 September 1207 in Balkh in present day Afghanistan. He died on 17 December 1273 in Konya in present day Turkey. He was laid to rest beside his father and over his remains a splendid shrine was erected. The 13th century Mevlana Mausoleum with its mosque, dance hall, dervish living quarters, school and tombs of some leaders of the Mevlevi Order continues to this day to draw pilgrims from all parts of the Muslim and non-Muslim world.

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Best Poem of Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

Be With Those Who Help Your Being

Be with those who help your being.
Don't sit with indifferent people, whose breath
comes cold out of their mouths.
Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.

A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don't try to fly,
and so break yourself apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it's too late for all you could become.

Leaves get yellow. The tree puts out fresh roots
and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?

Read the full of Be With Those Who Help Your Being

If I Weep

If I weep, if I come with excuses, my beloved puts cotton wool in his ears.
Every cruelty which he commits becomes him, every cruelty which he commits I endure.
If he accounts me nonexistent, I account his tyranny generosity.
The cure of the ache of my heart is the ache for him; how shall I not surrender my heart to his ache?
Only then are glory and respect mine, when his glorious love renders me contemptible.
Only then does the vine of my body become wine, when the wine-presser stamps on m

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