I want to boil the kettle of the soul, spread bloody foam.
I want to say the words of the two universes in one breath, in one effort.
I am out of my self. I have become a slave of Love.
I want to make all the universe go out of itself.
I twist the rope girdle around the neck of that despicable self.
The self says, “When I scream, I will be free and fly away.”
But, how can he be free?
I will pull in such a way that he will turn all around the world.
His smoke-colored soul will be engulfed in fire.
I will snatch the veil from the face of the bride of soul.
I will snatch away the wealth and property of the ones who are the leaders of Love.
I will make this earth a harp of Love.
I will make three hundred languages out of this mute harp.
Shems of Tebriz has stretched such a bow in the land of Love
That when I let go, not only the arrow, but the bowstring will fly away.
Divan-i Kebir, Meter 2, Gazel 61, Verses 2674-2680, Pages 116-117