Since I am the slave of the Sun,
I should talk only about the Sun.
I am not the night and don’t worship the night.
Why should I talk about dreams?
Since I am the envoy of the Sun,
I should ask Him your question secretly
and relate the answer to you.
Since I am like the Sun,
in order to illuminate the Universe,
I should brighten the ruins
and avoid the built-up areas.
I should tell broken stories.
I am a wretched apple,
but greater than my tree.
I am drunk, fallen on the ground.
But, I am telling the truth.
My heart caught the scent of His village’s soil;
I would be ashamed if I talked about water.
Lift the veil from your face.
You have an auspicious face.
Don’t make me talk with you through that curtain.
When my heart turns into stone,
I am in fire, like iron.
When I become thin, glassy and beautiful,
I talk about the glass and the wine.
I explain the beauty of the red tulip
with my saffron-colored face.
I tell the story of the cloud
with the streams of water coming from my eyes.
When the instigator asks about my situation,
I should be frightened and say,
“Thanks to God.”
Instead, I start complaining,
telling that instigator about sorrow and suffering.
When the rebab starts crying for Him,
I fall on my face like a kemence.*
When the preacher starts a sermon,
I talk about that very same matter.
Now I will quit talking. I will remain silent.
Because I have a heart which has been burned,
if I talk, it may burn you.
*Kemence A musical instrument.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 22, Ghazal 21, verses 181-193, pages 43-45.