News at Eleven: Rumi had cut across all barriers of religion.

Jews, Christians, Zoroastrians, all were present at his funeral. Each had seen in him qualities of whom they revered most in his own faith. The reflection of the same Nur-e-Mohammadi made him Christ-like for Christians, for Jews, he was the living Moses of the time . . . and today maybe nearest to Kabir for the vast population of Indians . . . In his life and his poetry he had proved that all came from the same source and to that source they will all return.

Thee I choose, of all the world, alone;
Wilt thou suffer me to sit in grief?
My heart is as a pen in thy hand,
Thou art the cause if I am glad or melancholy.
Save what thou willest, what will have I?
Save what thou showest, what do I see?
Thou mak'st grow out of me now a thorn and now a rose;
Now I smell roses and now I pull thorns.
If thou keep'st me that, that I am;
I thou would'st have me this, I am this.
In the vessel where thou givest colour to the soul
Who am I. What is my love and hate?
Thou wert first, and last thou shalt be;
Make my last better than my first.
When thou are hidden, I am of the infidels;
When thou art manifest, I am of the faithful.
I have nothing, except thou hast bestowed it;
What dost thou seek from my bosom and sleeve?

--Rumi translated by Reynold Nicholson

from Asian Age: Pain & joy of mystical verse

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