غزل شمارهٔ 621

Why must I dance in the glow of His sun? So that when the mote dances, He may remember me.

Every atom has become pregnant of the glow of His face, every atom of that delight gives birth to a hundred atoms.

Behold, in the mortar, how the body out of love for one fleet of spirit beats and bruises itself to become an atom.

If you are pearl and coral, only become grain-fine here, because in this presence only a mote is becoming.

Behold the pearl of the soul in the oyster shell of the body, how it bites its fingers at the hand of affliction.

When the spirit takes flight from you, this imprisoned essence returns to its origin like a mote—you may call to it, but it will not come.

And though its load be very firm and it digs in blood, though for a whole life it goes in blood, not one hair of it will be defiled.

Its only dwelling place is in the well of Babylon; until the soul becomes a magician, it reposes not in any place.

Tabriz! If Shams al-D¯ın shines forth from your zodiac, even the cloud will become like the moon, even the moon will wax in brightness.