I come slowly like water under straw
and carry away the mountain as if it were a piece of straw.
I drip from the gutter, drop by drop.
But, like a flood, I pick up and carry away hundreds of palaces.
I was food and fodder for trouble before.
But now, I have become trouble for trouble.
If you know where I am, come to me,
but not as you.
Free your heart from the jail of space.
I appear to you upside-down on this water,
but you don’t know where the top of my sapling is.
It is not treacherous,
although to you, it appears to be so a little.
I neither criticize anyone, nor do I praise.
These words are from the breath of Love.
Love is from a secret Grace.
Yet, like you, I fell in with the daily humdrum
because of my impudence.
If a mountain calls,
“O mountain, you said you came by, but you didn’t.”
Talk to the One who talks to you.
Such a talker I am!
My talks have no beginning and no end.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 18, Ghazal 134, verses 1316-1324, pages 52-53,