Our heart feels good today,
because You drank its blood yesterday.
May it do You good.
You showed Your moon face yesterday.
Yet today, You manifest in thousands of shapes
and hide Yourself in thousands of covers.
Our heart prostrates in front of that eye.
Our soul has turned into an earring for that ear.
You order in every breath, “Put your mind in your head.”
But, how can you expect reason and sense from the ones who don’t have them?
We are Your shrill pipe.
You are the One who talks through us.
We breathe Your breath.
Even the lion becomes a cat because of its fear of You.
Patience hides underground like a rat.
If every particle were to reach ecstasy and open its arms,
that Sun couldn’t fit in those arms.
Don’t share the rest of the poem.
We keep talking, while the Beloved keeps silent.
That is a pity.
But, what can we do?
It is an old rule that that Sea keeps silent,
but the waves become exuberant.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 13, Gazel 94, Verses 1086-1095, Pages 175-176.