Again the Violet Bows to the Lily

The post-obit haiku could be 'digested' separately or as a related series. They are responses to Rumi's call: "…don't be satisfied with stories, how things accept gone with others. Unfold your own myth, without complicated explanation, so everyone will understand the passage, nosotros have opened you."  Rumi's full poem "Unfold your own Myth", characteristic of Carpe Diem #1396, is reproduced following my three haiku.

on a summer dark
swinging over Buckhorn Lake
flying to the moon

~

sheltered by sand dunes
serenading the wind
solitary on the shore

~

candle flame flickers
words scribble on paper
in the dying light

©2018 Ontheland

~

"Who gets up early on to find the moment light begins?

Who finds us here circling, bewildered, like atoms?

Who comes to a spring thirsty

and sees the moon reflected in information technology?

Who, like Jacob, blind with grief and age,

smells the shirt of his son and can run across over again?

Who lets a bucket down

and brings up a flowing prophet?

Or like Moses goes for burn down

and finds what burns inside the sunrise?

Jesus slips into a house to escape enemies,

and opens a door to the other world.

Solomon cuts open a fish, and there's a golden ring.

Omar storms in to impale the prophet

and leaves with blessings.

Hunt a deer and end up everywhere!

An oyster opens his mouth to swallow i drop.

Now there's a pearl.

A vagrant wanders empty ruins

Suddenly he'due south wealthy.

But don't exist satisfied with stories,

how things have gone with others.

Unfold your own myth,

without complicated explanation,

so everyone volition empathise the passage,

Nosotros take opened you.

Start walking towards Shams.

Your legs volition get heavy and tired.

Then comes a moment of feeling the wings you've grown, lifting."

Jelaluddin Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)

**Photo sourced from Pixabay's public collection, tagged "swing"

I saw hawks and tiny birds out in the rain yesterday…and then I read some other verse form by Rumi.  I hope my readers are enjoying Rumi month at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai as much as I am! Below, my haiku is followed past an excerpt from the inspirational Rumi poem.

kickoff cold rain of bound

birds soar with forgotten joy

a dreamer awakes

©2018 Ontheland

….The grit of many crumbled cities
settles over us similar a forgetful doze,
but we are older than those cities.

We began
equally a mineral. We emerged into plant life
and into brute land, then into being human being,
and always nosotros take forgotten our former states,
except in early bound when nosotros slightly recall
being green again.
That's how a young person turns
toward a teacher. That'due south how a baby leans
toward the breast, without knowing the hole-and-corner
of its desire, yet turning instinctively.

Humankind is being led along an evolving grade,
through this migration of intelligences,
and though nosotros seem to be sleeping,
there is an inner wakefulness
that directs the dream,

and that will eventually startle us dorsum
to the truth of who we are.

©Jalaluddin Rumi, from 'The dream that must be interpreted' as translated by Coleman Barks

cello voice murmurs

love beyond words resounding

a window opens

©️2018 Ontheland

~

There is some kiss we want with

our whole lives, the touch of

spirit on the body. Seawater

begs the pearl to break its crush.

And the lily, how passionately

information technology needs some wild darling! At

night, I open the window and ask

the moon to come and printing its

face against mine. Exhale into

me. Close the language- door and

open up the dear window. The moon

won't utilise the door, only the window.

© Rumi (taken from: Soul of Rumi by Coleman Barks)

In response to Carpe Diem 1394: Some kiss we want

tulips! daffodils!
in surreal sleeping dreams—
in daylight, green moss
hugs the world forth my path
another world stirring nigh

©2018 Ontheland

~

Reading the Jalauddin Rumi poem below literally coloured my dreamworld last night. Though the landscape hither is dour, in that location are 'green ones' rising from below—such as the moss out back.

Again, the violet bows to the lily.
Over again, the rose is trigger-happy off her gown!

The green ones accept come from the other world,
Tipsy like the breeze up to some new foolishness.

Once more, near the tiptop of the mountain
The anemone's sweetness features appear.

The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine,
"Peace be with you." "And peace to you lot, lad!
Come walk with me in this meadow."

Once again, in that location are sufis everywhere!

The bud is shy, but the wind removes
Her veil suddenly, "My friend!"

The Friend is here like h2o in the stream,
Like a lotus on the water.

The narcissus winks at the wisteria,
"Whenever yous say."

And the clove to the willow, "You are the i
I hope for." The willow replies, "Consider
These chambers of mine yours. Welcome!"

The apple, "Orange, why the frown?"
"So that those who mean harm
Will not run into my dazzler."

The ringdove comes asking, "Where,
Where is the Friend?"

With 1 note the nightingale
Indicates the rose.

Once again, the flavor of Spring has come
And a jump-source rises under everything,
A moon sliding from the shadows.

Many things must be left unsaid, because information technology's belatedly,
But whatsoever chat we haven't had
Tonight, we'll have tomorrow.

© Jalauddin Rumi

 In response to Carpe Diem #1393: Jump is Coming

who is it?

who thirsts for all this

these transient things

that bind the spirit?

Take me to the heaven

wrap me in music,

the gentle silence of dawn

imitation leap?

it's the burn down of life

the roar of the sea

©️2018 Ontheland

~

Today I answer to Carpe Diem #1391: A Swell Silence featuring an ode of Jalaluddin Rumi…peradventure ane could call my piece an experimental haibun. Rumi's verse form has then much to savour:

I don't get tired of You. Don't abound weary

of existence compassionate toward me!

All this thirst-equipment

must surely be tired of me,

the waterjar, the water-carrier.

I have a thirsty fish in me

that can never discover plenty

of what it's thirsty for!

Show me the way to the Sea!

Break these one-half-measures,

these small-scale containers.

All this fantasy

and grief.

Let my business firm be drowned in the wave

that rose last night out of the courtyard

hidden in the centre of my chest.

Joseph fell like the moon into my well.

The harvest I expected was washed away.

But no matter.

A fire has risen in a higher place my tombstone hat.

I don't want learning, or dignity,

or respectability.

I want this music and this dawn

and the warmth of your cheek against mine.

The grief-armies assemble,

only I'm not going with them.

This is how information technology always is

when I end a poem.

A Great Silence overcomes me,

and I wonder why I ever thought

to use language.

© Rumi, Coleman Barks translation

~

dancing

flame embraces wick

wax melts to vapour

~

afar owl calls

nearby, loftier voices chatter

the match has been struck!

~

Sometimes poems will come up while listening to music. This fourth dimension I wrote after reading a verse form by Rumi…the first lines are: 'The flute weeps, to the pacing drum'. For the total text of Rumi'due south verse form delight visit Carpe Diem Haiku Kai.

©️2018 Ontheland

Today I offer more haiku/tanka reflections inspired by verses of 13th century poet, Jalaluddin Rumi, as curated by Chevrefeuille at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai:

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell yous.
Don't go dorsum to sleep.

Y'all must ask for what you really desire.
Don't go back to sleep.

People are going dorsum and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch on.

The door is round and open.
Don't get back to sleep.

© Rumi

My responses:

at rest
bathed in lidded light
consciousness awakes

~

thoughts whisper
solutions hover
in morning breeze

~

at daybreak
sensation dawns
in realm of
peaceful consciousness…
the door is always there

~

©2018 Ontheland

my mind is light
every bit words period to the page
an empty carafe

~

bound heaven
meditation
wondrous bluish

~

©2018 Ontheland

The sweet of silence between times of storytelling, talk, and worldly concerns is proposed by Rumi in "Two Days of Silence":

Afterwards days of feasting, fast.
Later on days of sleeping, stay awake
one night. After these times of bitter
storytelling, joking, and serious
considerations, we should give ourselves
two days between layers of baklava
in the repose seclusion where soul sweetens
and thrives more than with linguistic communication.

© Rumi (taken from The Volume of Love)

In Carpe Diem #1386, Chevrefeuille invites haiku in response, creating scenes that practice not utilise the word silence.

Baklava, courtesy of Pixabay

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Source: https://ontheland.blog/tag/rumi/