غزل شمارهٔ 1486

Like a mirror my soul displays secrets; I am able not to speak, but I am unable not to know.

I have become a fugitive from the body, fearful as to the spirit; I swear I know not—I belong neither to this nor to that.

Seeker, to catch a scent is the condition of dying; look not upon me as living, for I am not so.

Look not on my crookedness, but behold this straight word; my talk is an arrow, and I am as a bow.

This gourdlike head on top of me, and this dervish habit of my body—whom am I like, whom am I like in this market of the world?

Then this gourd on my head, full of liquor—I keep it upside down, yet I let not a drop trickle from it.

And even if I do let trickle, do you behold the power of God, that in exchange for that drop I gather pearls from the sea.

My eyes like a cloud gather pearls from that sea; this cloud of my spirit rises to the heaven of fidelity.

I rain in the presence of Shams al-H. aqq-i Tabr¯ız, that lilies may grow in the form of my tongue.