Every Pulse Bears the Drum of Primordial Love

Maulana spoke:

The lover weaves satin and brocade
from tears,
O friend, to spread it one day beneath your feet...

Only from tears, Maulana?

Every breath
Forms the weft of the endless fabric of love.
With every breath I weave the brocade of your name,
Golden letters inscribed in the satin-robe of my blood.
O, what garments have I prepared for you,
Taking the ruddy dawn
And the first green silk of spring,
Star-embroidered velvet, and feather-light wool!

Every thought embellishes your name, O my friend,
Weaving into the fabric the turquoise domes of Iran,
Dyeing the yarn in the pearl-studded depths of the sea.

Every pulse bears the drum of primordial love
Every breath is the flute of impossible hope
Every goblet is filled with you

And I weave
Ever new silken garments of words
Only to hide you.

AnneMarie Schimmel
in remembrance of Rumi

Oh beloved! Teach us of love
And of the anguish of seperation...

(with thanks to Zuber-man!)