At the time of evening prayers,
everyone lights their candle and sets their table.
Yet, I put the Beloved’s image in front of me.
I cry and yell with sorrow and longing.
Since I do my ablution with tears, my prayers become fiery.
The sound of the call for prayers burns the door of my small mosque.
I wonder.
where did the direction of my prayers go
that my prayers are left to praying at the wrong time,
but according to the will of God?
Trials come constantly to me, to all of us.
I wonder if the prayers of drunks are acceptable.
You tell me.
A drunk is aware of neither time nor space.
I wonder if this is the second body position of my prayers or the eighth?
I wonder which verse I need to recite.
In fact, I don’t have words, not any.
How can I knock on God’s door?
I have neither hand nor heart.
O my God, You are the One
who has taken my hand and my heart.
Please, at long last, give me Your mercy.
I swear to God that I do my prayers.
But after the last time I bow,
I don’t even know who leads them.
Don’t look for bowing and standing from a shadow.
Don’t ask for reasons or life from a shadow.
A shadow is exempt from answering questions,
because someone else’s soul moves him.
A shadow can only clap his hands and ask,
“Who could know a shadow?”
The Sultan is the owner of my shadow.
If He walks, I walk.
If He sits next to a store, I also sit.
Since I don’t have anything left,
I have started talking about shadows.
What comes out from a shadow’s mouth
fits only one mouth.
O brother,
you talk about water and fire like a genie.
But, don’t stop talking.
Whatever is inside of the jar seeps to the outside.
Isn’t that true or false?
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 22, Ghazal 51, verses 510-521, pages 121-123.