Those tender words we said to one another Are stored in the secret heart of heaven:
One day, like rain, they will fall and spread, And our mystery will grow green over the world

- Rumi

Define and narrow me, you starve yourself of yourself.
Nail me down in a box of cold words, that box is your coffin.
I do not know who I am,
I am in astounding lucid confusion.
I am not a Christian, I am not a Jew, I am not a Zoroastrian,
And I am not even a Muslim.
I do not belong to the land, or to any known or unknown sea.
Nature cannot own or claim me, nor can heaven,
Nor can India, China, Bulgaria,
My birthplace is placelessness,
My sign to have and give no sign.
You say you see my mouth, ears, yes, nose---they are not mine.
I am the life of life.
I am that cat, this stone, no one.
I have thrown duality away like an old dishrag,
 I see and know all times and worlds,
As one, one, always one.
So what do I have to do to get you to admit who is speaking?
Admit it and change everything!
This is your own voice echoing off the walls of God.

- Rumi

We search for Him here and there, while looking right at Him
Sitting by his side, we ask: Oh Beloved, where is the Beloved?
Enough with such questions
Let silence take you to the core of life
All your talk is worthless when compared with one whisper of the Beloved.

- Rumi

The brilliant sun that shines in every heart
For the heaven’s earth and all creatures
What a blessing!
The heart can’t wait to speak of this ecstasy
The soul is kissing the earth, saying
Oh God, what a blessing!
Fill me with the wine of your silence,
Let it soak my every pore
For the inner splendor it reveals
Is a blessing
Is a blessing. 

- Rumi

It is the day of great, great joy.
Let us all now, become friends.
Let us join our hands.  Let us go to the Friend.
We are all one, we are not two of one color and hue.
Let us dance, let us go to the market, dancing.
The beautiful friends now are starting to dance,
So let’s close the shop and dance, idle and free,
Today is the day that the souls put on the robe of his grace,
To mystery’s side, to the side of mystery,
We go dancing as God’s guests.
Al the gods and goddesses have pitched their tents in the garden
And to see them, now we go to the rose garden

- Rumi