See the bloody tears, the hundreds of torn shirts caused by Your grief.
Listen to all the yelling and screaming.
Look at the blood of my lungs,
smeared all over my face, my back, my front.
The one who sees Your face runs from town to town, becoming mad.
Why should I curse him? Why should I want him to face all that trouble?
He is going to eat stones and soil anyway!
The very worst comes to the one who doesn’t know You.
O Sultan of mankind, don’t prevent me from seeing You.
Don’t make me blind.
The blood runs like a torrent to the shore of the Sea of Soul.
It merges with the Sea.
The ones who know the sea forget everything else.
One astonished river runs smoothly, another one is lost.
The first one thanks God. The other prays for help.
God is the only One able to change one condition to the other.
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The harp is no good without You.
The reed flute is engulfed in grief.
Take one in Your arms. Kiss the other.
The tambourine says, “Hit, hit my face so I may become more valuable.”
This heart has broken into pieces and been scattered all around.
Make it well drunk,
so that it can find today the things which it lost yesterday.
O great Sultan, from now on, it is a pity to stay sober.
I made an oath to God that I wouldn’t mention Him when I’m sober.
Don’t bring any more proof. Either offer wine or talk.
Like one who found You through Grace,
follow the adventure of the Sufi.
Divan-i Kebir, Volume 1, Ghazal 22, verses 283-287, 292-295, pages 55-57.