O Sultan of our body and soul!
O One who makes us sometimes smile, sometimes grimace,
O One who puts salve on the eyes of our body and soul!
O Beautiful One, the moon is embarrassed
seeing Your light, Your height.
Let our blood be sacrificed to You.
When the heart sees You, it says,
“Divine fate has come. Divine fate has come.”
We become a ball for You,
in order to fit into the curved end of Your club.
Sometimes You put us to sleep.
Sometimes You send us to reason.
Sometimes You throw us into the world of existence,
sometimes into the desert of Absence.
The soul gives thanks to the Master.
Sometimes he yells and screams, “Alas!”
Sometimes he goes to serve his lover.
Sometimes he becomes God’s drunk, God’s crazy one.
You torment the soul, making him crazy, insane.
Sometimes You make him enjoy solitude.
Sometimes You make him fond of ostentation and hypocrisy.
Sometimes he wants gold,
but then other times spreads earth on his head.
Sometimes he thinks he’s Caesar.
Sometimes he wears old, patched, worn-out clothes.
What a strange tree he is.
Sometimes an apple is grown, sometimes a pumpkin.
Sometimes he yields poison, sometimes sugar.
Sometimes he causes trouble.
Sometimes he is the remedy.
What a strange river he is.
Sometimes he becomes water, sometimes blood.
He turns into ruby-colored wine or milk, or health-giving honey.
Sometimes he weaves knowledge into the heart.
Sometimes he destroys one’s knowledge.
Sometimes he achieves superiority.
Sometimes he encounters nothing but trouble and misfortune.
One day he becomes Master Muhammed.
One day he turns into a tiger, then a dog.
Sometimes he becomes a ferocious enemy.
Sometimes he becomes a father, mother, or close friend.
Sometimes he becomes a thorn, then a rose.
Sometimes he is the vinegar. Sometimes he is the wine.
Sometimes he plays the drum.
Sometimes he becomes a drum, hit constantly with a mallet.
Sometimes he falls in love with his five senses and the six diimensions.
Sometimes he prefers good spirits.
But sometimes, like a lost camel in the desert,
he just wanders around.
Sometimes his aims and hopes are as deep as a well-diggers.
Sometimes he is among the treasures of a rich man who hides his treasures.
Sometimes he is like Jesus and ascends to the sky.
In the end, when Your Grace opens his way, our soul sings one tune
and is saved from changing from color to color.
He becomes crazy and dips into one color like the early morning sun.
He dives into the sea like a fish.
His garden, his meadow, his country becomes the sea.
His coffin, his grave and everything else are dead,
a plague to him… everything except that sea.
When he slips out of those colors,
he slips into the jar of Jesus.
God’s color appears to do God’s wishes.
He is saved from malice, from modesty.
He is saved from running and stopping
like the millstone turning around the pin.
He is saved from “come” and “go.”
We open your door, really,
so you can keep your Friend next to you.
We merge your coming generation with you.
This is the reward of Love.
We tie your waist tightly. We forgive your sins.
You give thanks to God. That’s the reason.
Thanks brings contentment.
Mustef’ilun, Mustef’ilun, Mustef’ilun, Mustef’ilun,
The door of explanation is closed.
It is better for us to be silent.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 1, Ghazal 5, verses 88-108, pages 16-19.
