O Love, You have cracked me into pieces
as if I am a false idol.
I’ll take you to the Judge.
Nobody asked me to be a witness.
I am a witness of my own accord.
But, You are the One who is judged.
You are the Judge.
You are the past.
You are the future.
You are the One who goes into a rage.
You are the One who is contented.
You appear differently every single moment.
O my beautiful, great Love,
You are me. I am You.
You are the torrent.
You are the heap of grain for threshing.
You are joy, suffering and grief all at the same time.
These are from You. Those are from You.
Your purity goes with this and with that.
You are these plains. That mountain is You.
You are the valley of kindness.
You are the sweetness and drunkenness
of the ones close to You.
You are the sea full of pearls and the mine full of gold.
You are the love of talking and the passion of silence.
Comprehension is You. Ecstasy is You.
The right, justice and reproach are all You.
O One who became the Sultan to the Sultan of Sultans!
O One who placed His throne in the land of Soul!
O One who offers hundreds of signs!
Still, His face, His trace is unseen!
O Sea, O store of Absence!
For You, all the beautiful and ugly ones
are pictures painted by Your brush.
If one moment You so desire, You paint a beautiful picture.
If in another one you prefer ugliness,
You throw Your subject into sickness and death.
If the pictures knew
that they all came from the same pen,
they would get along fine with each other.
Your zeal says, “Go away,” to the ones approaching You,
the ones offering to give You their soul.
Your kindness invites them by saying,
“Yes, come here.”
Your kindness exceeds all,
attracting each lover more and more and more.
Just like light is superior to darkness,
Your favor is much greater than Your grief.
You hook everyone with a desire or fancy,
and then keep pulling them from place to place.
You are always the One.
The flag in Your hand pulls the army of all fancies.
First, You give someone a desire for ownership, for power.
Then, You hook someone else with that desire,
grabbing the greatness you gave to the first,
making him a slave to that second one.
Every moment, a desire comes from the Land of Soul to the body
without the knowledge
of the one who looks at destiny like a child,
the one who says, “This is mine. This castle is mine.”
I’ll be silent. I’ll close my mouth,
so that this world won’t become mixed up and confused.
You cannot be explained with words.
What can I say, more or less?
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 1, ghazal 82, verses 1014-1028, pages 195-197.