The Beloved is holding my harness,
pulling me like a camel again.
His business is to pull the one who chooses to be pulled.
Mine is to carry the load.
He made me the head of the caravan,
putting all of the drunk camels in it.
He is pulling me.
I am His drunk camel who worships thorns.
Sometimes He pulls me by the harness.
Sometimes He rides me.
Drunk camels become excited,
breaking things everywhere they go.
But, no camel will ever find the pleasure
which I have experienced.
When I am exalted, I reach His hand.
When I touch Him, my blood boils
Smoke comes out from the top of my head.
I will continue to work and carry loads like a camel.
When I carry such weight,
watch the greatness of my work.
When His narcissus eyes drink my blood,
He sobers from drunkenness.
My patience will win over His.
The image of His face has become
the direction of prayer for my eyes.
His golden worlds have become earrings to my ears.
The garden asks,
“What do you say about beauty?”
“Let me show you true beauty when my spring arrives.”
The wine asks,
“What is this hangover?”
I say, “You haven’t experienced my wine.”
You are a white falcon.
Go and tell the Hunter.
“Yes,” the Hunter says.
“You are my hunter. You are my prey.”
The first verse of this poem was about a camel.
That’s why this poem is so long.
O my smart Sultan,
don’t ever expect to see a short camel.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 21, Ghazal 57, verses 604-615, pages 122-123.