My God, I Wish I Knew (3/19/2023)

My God, I Wish I Knew (3/19/2023)

My God, I wish I knew the intention of my Beloved.

He has taken my heart. My decision has disappeared.

My escape route has been blocked.


My God, I wish I knew where He was pulling me.

He grabbed me by the neck, and He keeps pulling me.

For what reason? To what destination?


My God, I wish I knew why my merciful Sultan

has become so stonehearted.

That Beauty of mine is all that I have.


My God, I wish I knew if my wails and cries

and the smoke rising from my heart

will ever reach the ear of my Beloved.

Will He ever be able to hear them?


My God, I wish I knew where He plans to pull me in the end.

My God, this night of waiting has become so long.


My God, what is this exuberance?

Why is this curtain in front of me?

My One is You. My thousands are You.


Every moment, talking or in silence,

Your Love, Your vision is in my eye.

You are my daily bread.

You are my everlasting time.


Sometimes, I call Him prey.

Sometimes, I call Him spring.

Sometimes, I call Him wine

and other times my drunkenness.


He is my curse. He is my faith.

He is my eye to see the light.

He is the light in my eye.

He is my this. He is my that.

I can’t give Him up.


I have lost patience and sleep.

I have no tears, no face left.

My God, how long will He pillage my poor belongings?


Where is the house made of mud?

Where is the house of heart and soul?

O my God, I miss my real home, my real country.


O heart, you have been exiled from your town.

You have been left alone, sitting in black dirt,

crying, “Where is my friend, my family? Where is my town?”


My God, I wish to see the compassion of my Sultan again,

to see my friends and loved ones.


He leveled my rough road

and took the heavy load off my shoulders.

My agile Beloved relieved me of my heavy burden.


My lion-hunting gazelle gets nourished from my milk.

I am His prey.

But, the day will come when I will hunt Him,

and He will become my prey.


This black-faced night cannot become the peer to my morning.

The stonehearted autumn won’t arrive after my spring.


You don’t know how to stop,

O my lips who act like the doorkeeper.

How long will you beat the drum?

Here, finally, the curtain has fallen.

Divan-i Kebir, Volume 21, Ghazal 54, verses 571-587, pages 115-117.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *