If I weep, if I come with excuses, my beloved puts cotton wool in his ears. <br />Every cruelty which he commits becomes him, every cruelty which he commits I endure. <br />If he accounts me nonexistent, I account his tyranny generosity. <br />The cure of the ache of my heart is the ache for him; how shall I not surrender my heart to his ache? <br />Only then are glory and respect mine, when his glorious love renders me contemptible. <br />Only then does the vine of my body become wine, when the wine-presser stamps on me and spurns me underfoot. <br />I yield my soul like grapes under the trampling, that my secret heart may make merry, <br />Though the grapes weep only blood, for I am vexed with this cruelty and tyranny. <br />He who pounds upon me puts cotton wool in his ears saying, “I do not press unwittingly. <br />If you disbelieve, you are excusable, but I am the Abu’l Hikam [the expert] in this affair. <br />When you burst under the labor of my feet, then you will render much thanks to me.”<br /><br />Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-i-weep/
