Rumi (1207-1273) (Divan, no. 1296)
Come to me, for you are the soul of the soul of the soul of listening
Come -- you are the cypress striding in the garden of listening.
Come -- there has never been, nor will there be, anyone like you
Come -- not even the eyes of listening have seen anyone like you
Come -- the fountain of the sun lies beneath your shadow
You hold a thousand Venuses in the heaven of listening
Even though the roof of heaven's seventh plane is high,
The ladder of listening goes much higher than that
Listening is thanking you, with a hundred eloquent tongues
I will only say some brief points in the language of listening
When atoms' embraces are filled by rays of the sun,
All enter into the dance, without the noise of listening
When love puts his hand on my shoulder, what can I do?
I pull him in the corner, as if in the midst of listening
Listening recites your praises, both by day and night
The light of your face gives nobility to the place of listening
You are beyond both worlds when you enter listening
This world of listening is beyond both worlds
We are stomping our feet on anything that is not him
Why? That's the condition, in the exam of love.
God belongs to you, and you belong to God
Listening belongs to you, and you belong to listening
Come -- for Shams-i Tabrizi is the very form of love
We all enter into dancing in the midst of listening.