A wayward, amiable friend had became insane.
His cup had fallen from the roof. His secret had became known.
Here, look: Once he was sent to the lunatic asylum.
He was looking for water like a thirsty one by turning around our pool.
Suddenly, he fell into our pool and, like dry mint,
got wet and became relish for our bread.
O learned man, be careful.
Now he has become a legend thanks to our spell.
What has happened to him has become a story for everyone.
People won’t forget this.
Ears won’t get free of this earring.
He takes thoughts and intelligence from people’s heads
and pours them into a cup, like grain ready to become ground in the mill.
O soul, don’t take this too lightly. Don’t think it is all just play.
Try to work with your soul, Take a personal interest in that.
So many combs have turned upside down because of His black curly hair.
Don’t let your mind make you over-confident.
So many masters in this world stand upright,
then wail and cry more than the Pole of Hannane.*
I was separated from my soul.
I tore my clothes like a rose and have become such a shape
that even my mind has become a stranger to me.
That drop called the mind has been annihilated in His sea.
That particle of soul has been spent and depleted on the way to the Beloved.
I should be silent,
What’s the use of this candle in front of the One
whose light makes the Sun and Moon into a moth?
I should extinguish this candle.
*Pole of Hannane The Weeping Pillar. A highly revered historical location and modern-day architectural column inside the Prophet’s Mosque (Masjid al-Nabawi) in Medina, Saudi Arabia.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 1, ghazal 162, verses 3589-3597, pages 403-404.