غزل شمارهٔ 260

The wheel of heaven, with all its pomp and splendour, circles around God like a mill.

My soul, circumambulate around such a Kaaba; beggar, circle about such a table.

Travel like a ball around in His polo-field, inasmuch as you have become happy and helpless.

Your knight and rook are circumambulating about the king, even though you move from place to place on this chessboard.

He set on your finger the royal signet so that you might become a ruler having authority.

Whoever circumambulates about the heart becomes the soul of the world, heart-ravishing.

The heart-forlorn becomes companion to the moth, he circles about the tip of the candle,

Because his body is earthy and his heart of fire—congener has an inclination towards congener.

Every star circles about the sky, because purity is the congener of purity.

The mystic’s soul circles about annihilation, even as iron about a magnet,

Because annihilation is true existence in his sight, his eyes having been washed clean of squinting and error;

The drunkard made ablution in urine, saying, “O Lord, deliver me out of impurity.”

God answered, “First realize what impurity is; it is not meet to pray crookedly and topsy-turvy.

For prayer is a key; and when the key is crooked, you will not attain the favour of opening the lock.”

I fall silent; all of you, leap up! The cypress-like stature of my idol cries come!

Emperor of Tabriz, my King, Shams-i D¯ın, I have closed my lips; do you come, and open!