غزل شمارهٔ 1082

Reason is the chain of travellers and lovers, my son; break the chain, and the way is plain and clear ahead, my son.

Reason is a chain, heart a cheat, body a delusion, soul a veil; the way is hidden from all these heavinesses, my son.

When you have risen out of reason, soul, and heart, and you have gone forth, still this certainty and this direct vision is in doubt, my son.

The man who has not departed out of self is not a man, my son; the love which is not of the soul is but a legend, my son.

Set up your breast as a target before the arrow of His decree; be sharp, for the arrow of His decree is already in the bow, my son.

The breast that has been wounded by the striking of the arrow of His tug, on its brow and face are a hundred marks, my son.

If you mount like Idris to the seventh heaven, the love of the Beloved is an excellent ladder indeed, my son.

On every side where a caravan takes its proud way behold love, which is the qibla of the caravan, my son.

His love has cast a shadow on the earth like a snare; His huntsmanlike love is in heaven, my son.

Enquire not of me concerning love, enquire not of any man, enquire of Love itself; Love in speaking is like a pearl-raining cloud, my son.

Love requires not the interpreter service of me and a hundred like me; concerning realities Love is its own interpreter, my son.

Love is not the business of those asleep or soft and delicate, Love is the business of the brave and of heroes, my son.

Whoso has become the servant of lovers and true ones, he is a king, an emperor, a master of fortune, my son.

Let not this world full of magic spells lure you away from Love, for this faithless world is leaping away from you, my son.

If the verses of this ode have become long in its joins, the tune has changed but the meaning is the same, my son.

Take heed, close your mouth and be silent henceforth like an oyster shell, for this tongue of yours is in reality the enemy of the soul, my son.