Shakespeare's Sonnet 146

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,

Fool’d by these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?

Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?

Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant’s loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
     

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And, death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Explanation:

 

O poor soul, the center of my sinful body (earth), fooled by these rebel powers that you array (arrange in a pleasing way), why do you pine within, and suffer dearth (lack), by painting your outward walls (body) so costly gay?

Why do you spend so large cost upon your fading mansion (dwelling place – body), having so short a lease (life)? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess (i.e. residue of body) eat up your charge? Is only this your body’s end?

Then, soul, live upon (i.e. transform) your servant’s loss (i.e. body’s suffering), and let your body pine to add (aggravate) to your richness (store); buy divine terms by selling hours of dross (i.e. use efforts of body for earning divine worth), be fed within, without be rich no more (i.e. don’t try to ornament the body from outside any more).

This way you shall feed on Death, which feeds on men, and, once death is dead, then there is no more dying (that is, by willingly accepting, absorbing & transforming sufferings that life may inflict, you shall feed on death, which feeds on men, and, once you have transformed the fear of death (- that would be the death of Death), then there is no more dying).

- From the book

Sonnets of Shakespeare Explained 

 

Ascending Soul - a poem by Rumi

I died as mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?

Yet, once more, I shall die as man, to soar
With angels blessed; but even from angelhood
I must pass on; all except God doth perish.

When I have sacrificed my angel soul,
I shall become what no mind e’ev conceived.
Oh, Let me not exist! For Non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones, “To Him we shall return.”

In the first part of this poem Rumi celebrates himself for his evolution from mineral state to the state of being born as human being. The realization of the fact of his own evolution gave him the sound basis for having unwavering faith in still better possibilities lying ahead.

In the second part of this poem Rumi says that when one dies to one’s mean and small ordinary psychological self (lower-self), and is reborn - the angelic qualities of unconditional love, compassion, child-like pure godly wisdom, etc becomes his very nature - one soars with angels blessed. But, he continue to say, except the Absolute (Akshar-Brahm), such relative immortality (existence after death as angel or god) comes to an end at some point of time, however inconceivably long may be such existence in angelic self.

In the third part of this poem Rumi says that realizing this (mortality of relative immortality) he sacrificed the attachment (the sense of oneness) with the bliss and enlightenment of angel soul, and became fana in Him. (To be fana means to lose, that is, to totally disregard one’s angel-self before the vastness, source-ness-of-everything and glory of The God). Then, he experienced the state, which no mind (even the mind of angel soul) can fathom. And that fana-state proclaimed “To Him we shall return”.

Place of verse in my life

I wonder, in my life what's the place of verse?
It does place my bosom beyond the purse,
From where it becomes possible to see
Many a motive, playing their part in me;

And from that beauty, when I listen to words,
It unfolds the feeling that sound affords;
And, helps me learn how to conceive and wait
But of that sweet soft pain, what could be writ!

I, even in a furious or pensive mood,
If sit to write, my Muse uses it as food
And, from that, cool vividness does create;
With this bright ink her pen grafts my fate.

Who could gift such a wondrous wealth to me?
Ah! It’s hugging hand of my darling, thee!!!