بخش 3 - خودی

The Ego is lucent from God’s light rays, A reach to self gets through out of reach ways

Its separation looks part of ‘wasl’ hence, And ‘wasl’ a part of separation trance.

When a nation gives up gossip’s course, From her dust then grows the longing’s force.

The self becomes sword from longing’s flow, Whose sharp edge cuts all stains of vain show.

From God’s own being, the ‘self’ got a ‘being’ so’ From God’s own show, to ‘self’ He gave a show.

About this shining pearl I know not where, It could be then without a river there.

The friendship of rosea heart likes when, To sweet dream tastes, he loves only, then.

It wakes up when he is conscious of I, When ruled by senses his Ego would die.

His parting’s prick in my tete‐a‐tete lies, To ope this tie get a glance of one’s eyes.

That pearl is hidden though in depths of sea, To pearls water yet we cannot call sea.

The dusty look I hold owes to His door, My rose and basil bloom from His down pour.

I know not my being, neither His Grace, Yet I’m in His hold and own embrace.