If He destroys hundreds like me, that causes no sorrow for Him.
You fall in Love. He doesn’t care.
Your heart is broken. He has many others.
He asks, “Why can’t your eyes see the wine?”
What can they do?
They are always wet in front of Your sun.
I will lick His wounds at His temple, like Ishmael.
If His intention is to reproach me, I accept it, because I am Abraham.
If my exuberance has become well known, I am excused, O my God.
I am a slave to a Love which has a flag and a drum.
When my sweet Beloved floors me,
why should that poor soul feel sad?
He has such a great Beloved.
His sorrow is a treasure to my heart.
My heart is glory after glory,
just like beautiful Mary who had Jesus in her belly.
My Beloved resembles the Sun.
But, He walks around alone. He has an army of stars.
The Moon is His commander-in-chief.
The mouths of all the seas are bitter because of His sorrow.
Look at the face of the Moon.
He has even been branded. See the scars of that branding.
For centuries, no lover like me has appeared in either East or West.
If you don’t believe me,
ask the sky whose back is bent like mine.
How lucky is that man who has been awakened from sleep
with a pinch from his Beloved.
He appreciates and cherishes that, rejoices because of it.
If the doctor gives bitter medicine to his patient,
that patient should drink it like sweet juice.
It is not proper for a wise person to blame the doctor.
If you blame the doctor, you will stay sick.
The apprentice who respects his master learns something.
Be silent.
It is not good to yell and scream in this sea.
The diver is the one who knows how to hold his breath.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 15, Ghazal 44, verses 505-517, pages 100-101.