غزل شمارهٔ 1414

I saw a tree and a fire. A call came, “My darling!” That fire is calling me; am I Moses son of ‘Imr¯an?

I entered the wilderness with affliction, and tasted manna and quails; for forty years like Moses I am wandering about this desert.

Ask not about ship and sea; come, look at these marvels— how that for so many years I have been sailing a ship in this dry land.

Come, soul! You are Moses, and this bodily form is your staff; when you pick me up I become a staff, when you cast me down I am a serpent.

You are Jesus and I am your bird; you made a bird out of clay; just as you breathe on me, even so I fly in the zenith.

I am the pillar of that mosque against which the Prophet leaned; when he leans against another, I moan from the pain of separation.

Lord of Lords and Formless Maker of forms, what form are You drawing over me? You know; I do not know.

Now I am stone, now iron; for a while I am all fire; now I am a balance without a weight, now I am both weight and balance.

For one time I pasture here, another they pasture on me; now I am a wolf, now a sheep, now the form of a shepherd.

The material body came as a token; how shall the token remain for ever? Neither this remains nor that; He who is mine knows that I am that.