غزل شمارهٔ 2480

Restless heart of mine, say, of what substance are you? Of fire? Of water? Of man? Of peri?

From what direction have you come? On what food pastured? What have you seen in nonexistence? Why are you flying thither?

Why do you uproot me? Why aim at my destruction? Why cut the road of wisdom? Why tear your own veil?

All animals and living beings are wary of nothingness except you, who are carrying your baggage into nonentity.

You are going hot and hurrying, drunk, dissolute, to whose counsel would you hearken? How long will you fall for the coquetry of men?

You are a torrent flowing, flowing from the mountaintop of this world towards the sea of no-place, faster than my breath.

Garden and spring are bewildered to know by what breeze you blow; lily and cypress are intoxicated with you: what a rose, what a narcissus you are!

The music of the tambourine whose hoop is not accompanied by tinkling cymbals, like the ravings of an unbeliever, enters not our ears.

The Moses of your love said to me “Become untouchable”; how do I not flee from all? How not run away from the Samaritan?

I have fled from all, though I am in the midst of men, as the Ja‘far¯ı gold coin is in the midst of the earth of the mine.

Though the gold cries out two thousand times, “I am gold,” till it leaves the mine, no one will purchase it.