It comes to me that I am out of this world today.
It comes to me that today, I am hidden from my self.
I grabbed the knife and cut off my existence.
Now, I don’t belong to me or anyone else.
I didn’t say that correctly.
I didn’t cut off my existence myself.
My soul did it for me.
How is the fire in my heart doing?
I don’t know, because my tongue is burning in a different way.
I have seen my self in hundreds of different forms.
Once I see one of them, I say, “Yes, that is me.”
Although I said, “I have seen myself in hundreds of different forms,”
maybe I am not a form.
I don’t seem to leave any trace, any sign.
All those forms are in my heart.
They resemble guests. I am their guest house.
They come and go from me.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 18, Ghazal 137, verses 1350-1356, page 58.