O sky, you ask where I learned this whirling?
I learned it from the One whose face is like the Moon.
I am a particle to His sun.
I learned this trembling, this dancing from Him.
The river of soul flows in the canal
of the Beloved whose veil is the Moon.
Where did I learn how to run face down?
I learned it from that river.
The rose garden kept asking me,
“How did you steal this gazelle of musk?”
I answered,
“I am such a lion that I learned it from His gazelle.”
I can tightrope walk beautifully like a pumpkin vine.
I learned how to from this garden,
from this dried, twisted date palm,
from the curly hair which has fallen on His forehead.
I closed my eyes and my mouth
to the world’s pictures and designs.
I learned how to paint without color or smell.
His kindness, generosity and creativity opened my eyes.
I learned dying instant by instant
from the One who gives favor and compassion.
In sleep, you walk without direction.
Don’t go six directions when you’re awake.
Don’t talk about direction.
I’ve found a side beyond directions.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 1, ghazal 75, verses 941-947, page 181.