My Beloved was walking about the garden yesterday, saying,
“O Great Greenness, there are hundreds who tolerate Your oppressions.
But, is there anyone like Me?”
I asked Him, “Why don’t You ask this of me?”
“My questions,” He answered,
“don’t fit in the ear and don’t come from the mouth.”
I said, “Even if You don’t ask me openly, tell me secretly,”
He answered, “The soul and body both would be burned
by such secret explanations, hints and signs of the heart.”
I asked, “How do You manage on this journey?”
He answered, “Like the moon, I go in my orbit, bright, beautiful, playful.”
To turn around Oneself is only for the Soul of the Universe.
Since that One is on a journey in His true country,
He walks while standing.
The caravan master and camels
are all drunk thanks to the Sultan of Sultans.
O caravan master, don’t stay anywhere
except in the place of my Beloved.
O our drink, our whims, O our essence, our beginning!
How could the soul of an ordinary man know our secret?
O One whose Love in my soul resembles the Sun in the sign of Aries,
Whose stature, face and eyes turn into a magnificent ruby in my eyes!
The ones before, the ones after,
If they all got together at the end of the world,
none would be more beautiful than You.
The rose has so many thorns in its feet
because it searches for You.
The jasmine cries all the time because of its separation from You.
All the particles in both worlds greedily open their mouths
because the Sun of Your face gives us sustenance.
When an animal is sacrificed, its soul leaves its body.
Piece by piece, its flesh comes back to life on this side.
Fire teaches eternal living to those pieces of flesh.
It says, “O one just freed from the soul, O one who has become dirt,
O one who tries to reach the Soul which cannot be damaged!”
Those pieces of flesh yell,
“I only wish my tribe could know, could understand that!”
If those yells were ever to come this way,
arrogance and disbelief among the people would disappear.
There would be no fear in any heart, nor thorn in the foot of any rose.
You would begin and continue marching to reach this country, saying,
“I accept Your invitation, I accept Your invitation!”
There is an end to this longing.
I could say more about it
if the Cupbearer would come and make me go out of myself.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 1, ghazal 105, verses 1324-1340, pages 253-255.