Now I shout for more wine. In somber dignity, I used to sit on my mat and pray. Now children run through and make faces at me. The way of love ist not a subtle argument. The door there is devastation.
Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom.
Most of Rumi's poems are stories or parables and run much longer than those here. So in the times to come I'll most likely just take excerpts from the poems I like. That way you don't have to be intimidated, and I can deliver the core of Rumi.