Some of the poems in the Divan-e Shams seem to have been composed shortly after the departure of Shams, and they confirm that Rumi thought he had gone to Syria or Tabriz (D 677):
Strange, where did that gorgeous heartbreaker go?
Odd, where’d that tall supple cypress trunk go?
He bathed us like a candle in his light;
in thin air vanished, left us! Where’d he go?
My heart, leaf-like, trembles all day long at this:
where’d, at midnight, all alone, that heartthrob go?
Run up to the road and ask the travelers —
That soul-quickening companion, where’d he go?
Walk in the garden, ask the gardeners —
That luscious bough of rosebuds, where’d it go?
Clamber on the roof and ask the watchmen —
Our one and only monarch, where’d he go?
A man possessed, I wander in the plain
crying, “Where in the world d’our gazelle go?”
My tearful eyes outflow the mighty Oxus —
That pearl’s sunk in the sea, where did it go?
All night through I beg the Moon and Venus –
Where did, in heaven’s name, that bright orb go?
Since he’s ours, how is it he’s with others?
Since here he’s not, from here to where’d he go?
And if he’s left the world of clay and breath,
his placeless soul to join with God did go.
So tell me clear: Shams al-Din of Tabriz –
who quotes “The Sun dieth not” — where’d he go?
One poem in the Divan-e Shams regales us with Rumi’s loving recollection of the various places he had frequented in Damascus. This poem shows Rumi contemplating a third journey to Syria in search of Shams, though Aflaki claims it was composed on the way to Damascus (D 1493):
I’m mad about, just crazy
for Damascus!
My heart feels melancholic and
I left my spirit in Damascus!
Blissful morn comes up in that direction
Dawn and dusk, intoxicated
by Damascene bewitchments:
Love bereft, we stand by Barid Gate
Beyond the Lovers’ Mosque
in the green field of Damascus
Have you never sipped the spring of Bu Nuwas?
We love the quenching water
of Damascus!
Let me swear an oath on “Osman’s Scroll:
That heart-stealing pearl makes
us sparkle in Damascus
Far from the Gate of Release
and the Gate of Paradises
you can’t imagine what visions we see
in Damascus
Let’s climb Rebva, and on Christ’s Cradle
we’ll be like monks, drunk on the dark red wines
of Damascus
In regal Nayrab we saw a tree;
sitting in its shade, we’re dizzied
by Damascus
We roll through her Verdant Field, struck
like polo balls by mallet curls of hair,
on the quadrangle of Damascus
We could never lack for Mezza, for we gain savor and delight
at the Eastern Gate of Damascus
On Righteous Mountain is a mine of gems
through which we swim in the jewels of Damascus
Since Damascus is paradise of the world,
we long for a vision of the fair angels of Damascus
For a third time let’s speed to Syria from Byzance
For tresses dark as Syrian nights
drench us in the fragrance of Damascus
If that is where to practice servitude
to Shams al-Haqq of Tabriz
then my heart’s mastered by Damascus,
and mister, I’m Master of Damascus!
