When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden. 
 For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
 Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love. 
 When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

~ Kahlil Gibran

When your soul touched mine, a great chord started singing.
How then do I attune it to another affair?
O! That somewhere could be found
Where it did not reverberate with that song!!
Everything that touches you and me
Unites in one grand melody.
Whence is that instrument from where this melody breaks forth?
And who is the musician that holds the bow?
O ! Sweet melody ~ ~

A lover asked his beloved,

Do you love yourself more than you love me?

Beloved replied, I have died to myself and I live for you.

I've disappeared from myself and my attributes,

I am present only for you.

I've forgotten all my learnings,

but from knowing you I've become a scholar.

I've lost all my strength, but from your power I am able.

If I love myself...I love you.

If I love you...I love myself.

 ~ 

RUMI

Let all find fulfillment in love.
Let lovers be reconciled.
Let them be in ecstasy forever.
Let their lives be a glorification.
Let their souls cavort in the glow of Your love.

I picked a flower from your garden, O Master Gardener !
I clasped it close to my heart and the thorn piqued.
When the day ebbed and nighfall approached, I discerned that the flower had lost its hue, but the ache remained.

More flowers will blossom in your garden, full of fragrance and delight, O Gardener !
But my time for gathering blossoms is over, and through the nighttripping hours, I have not my flower, only the ache that abides and a heart that bleeds.

You conceal Yourself in Your own splendor. The dewdrop and the infinitesimal grain of sand are more haughtily peceptible than You.

Those florid words that I have composed before, are untrue.
Even those that asserted that I love you and look tenderly upon you.
Thus far, my perception knew no reason, no wisdom.
My fire burns clearer now.

Time's myriad accidents, snake in between vows,
And alter the proclamations of kings.
Tans hallowed beauty, and dull the keenest purports.
It averts mighty minds into modifying affairs.

So under duress of time's tyranny,
May I not say 'Now I love you best.'
May I not now say that love is a newborn babe.
That it grows and will still evolve.

Talk to me, my beloved! Utter to me in words what is in your heart. Lay bare your soul in words.
The night is deep. The stars have hidden themselves in a veil of clouds. The wind is moaning through the leaves. I will loosen my hair and let it lie unfettered. My cerulean sari will embrace me like the night. I will hold your head to my bosom ; and there in pure solitude whisper on your heart. I will close my eyes and listen. I will not look in your face. When you finish saying your words, we will sit in silence. Only the trees will murmur in the dark. The night will fade. Dawn will break. We shall gaze at each others eyes and depart on our different roads. Talk to me, my beloved! Utter to me in words what is in your heart.

||Ishavasyamidam Sarvam Yat Kincha Jagatyan Jagat||*
We are ordained to see whatever there is in the world as being enveloped by God.

||Yo devo ganau yopsu yo vishwam bhuvanamavivesha ya aushadishu yo vanaspatishu tasmai devaya namonamah||*
I bow to the Lord over and over again who is in fire and in water, who permeates the whole world, who is in the annual crops as well as in the perennial trees.
*From the Upanishad

Reckon on love even if it brings anguish. Do not shut your heart. The heart is only for relinquishing with a song and a tear. Happiness is fragile like a droplet, while it laughs, it dies. But sorrow is mighty and it endures. Let painful love awaken in your eyes. In the sight of the sun, the lotus blossoms and relinquishes all that it has. It is not like the lotus to remain in bud in the illimitable wintertide.

My soul, a creature of the wild has found her heaven in your eyes.
They are the comfort of the morningtide, they are empire of the stars.
My poetry has relinquished itself in its deepness.
Let me but float in its lone immenseness.
Let me but pierce its clouds and fly in its luster.

Why did the bud not blossom? Why did it fade and die?
I cumbered it and pressed it to my heart with tremulous and anxious love, that is why it faded and died.

                      

In his anguish, man cries, "If there was God, there wouldn't have prevailed such utter lawlessnes!" Indeed the Lord of this Universe has stood aside from our self. He has not shadowed our self with His throne. He has left us free. He seeks His manifestation in the will of man. As far as nature is related, man has to acknowledge the rule of God but in his self, he is free to disown Him. There our Lord must gain His admittance. There He comes not as a King but as a caller, thus, He has to wait until He is invited. God does not command our self, there He comes to seek our love. Indeed He stands away from us, where His watchful forbearance knows no bondage, and where He never tries to coerce the gate open if it's closed against Him. Our soul has to reach its ultimate destiny, not through the Lord's compelling power, but through love.

|| Namah Shambavaya ||*
Our obeisance to Him from whom come the joys of our existence.

||Namah Shankarayacha||*
Our obeisance to Him from whom comes the good of our spirit.

||Namah Shivayacha Shiv Taraya Cha||*
Our Obeisance to Him who is the innate good in all, in whom we are conjoined in all entirety, in love and harmony, in righteousness and peace.

*Lines from the Hindu Scripture, Shri Rudram.

They are pitiless in their avarice and their malice, their utterance is like concealed knives coveting blood. They complain and confront, they doubt and despair, their altercations know no bound.
Let them behold your innocent face, little one, and learn the purpose of all things; let them love you and hence learn to love each other. Go and stand in the midst of their disapproving hearts, little angel and let your tender glance be the forgiving grace they need.

God grieved and said, "Where and why does my devotee amble to find me, by abandoning me?"

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An amused smile flashes across your eyes when I come to you to say that I am going. I have rendered this role so often that you are convinced that I will return before long. To be honest, I have the same qualm.
The season of spring comes again year after year; the full moon departs and comes forth again., the flowers blossom and bloom time after time, and it is probable that I go only to come back to you again.
But keep the delusion for a while; do not dismiss it in a flurry.
When I say, I am going away and leaving you, acknowledge it as a fact, and for one moment let tears befog the rim of your eyes.
Then when I come back, smile as archly as you like.

Let us end this final refrain and let us depart.
Let us consign to oblivion this sweet hour when this sweet hour is no more.
Who do I strive to constrain in my arms?
Love can never be bound.
Dream can never be caged.
My yearning hands clasp and press desolation to my heart and it lacerates my bosom.

Hark little bird, do not fold your wings yet. Although the nighttripping hour has drawn near and beckoned all songs to cease;
Although your playmates are reposing and you are weary;
Although despair broods in the shadows and the sky is wearing a shroud;
Hark little bird do not fold your wings yet.

That which lies ahead is not the dismal foliage of the wildwood, that is the sea surging like a black Cimmerian serpent.
That is not the caper of blossoming daisies, that is the gleaming spray of the foam.
Where is your nest and where is the lush sunlit shore?
Hark little bird do not fold your wings yet.

The comfortless dark stretches ahead and the morning slumbers behind the aphotic summit.
The lame crescent wades through the abysmal dark and the stars are holding their breath counting the hours.
Hark little bird do not close your wings yet.

There is no dream and no dismay for you.
There is no utterance, no murmur, no cry.
There is no haven , no sanctuary for rest.
There is only your twain wings and the trackless sky.
So Hark little bird do not close your wings.

In a misty dream I went to look for the love which was mine in a past life. His dwelling stood in the middle of a busy street. In the evening breeze his pet sat drowsing and the birds were quietly settled.
He set his lamp down by the door and stood before me.
He raised his eyes to my face and silently enquired, "How are you, my beloved?"
I tried to reply, but our utterance had been mislaid and obliterated.

I tried to recall, yet our names I could not bring to memory.
Grief shone in his eyes. He held out his hand to me. I took it and stood speechless.
Our lamp had wavered in the evening breeze and died.