غزل شمارهٔ 364

So long as the form of the Beloved’s image is with us, for us the whole of life is a joyful parade.

Where friends unite together, there in the midst of the house, by Allah, is a spreading plain;

And where the heart’s desire comes true, there one thorn is better than a thousand dates.

When we are sleeping at the head of the Beloved’s lane, our pillow and blankets are the Pleiades;

When we are twisted into the tip of the Beloved’s tress on the Night of Power, power belongs to us.

When the reflexion of His beauty shines forth, mountainland and earth are silk and brocade.

When we ask of the breeze the scent of Him, in the breeze is the echo of lute and reedpipe.

When we write His name in the dust, every particle of dust is a dark-eyed houri.

We chant a spell of Him over the fire; thereby the raging fire becomes water-cool.

Why shall I tell a long tale? For when we mention His name to nonbeing too, it increases being.

That subtlety in which Love is contained is fuller of pith than a thousand walnuts.

That instant when Love showed its face, all these things vanished from the midst.

Silence! For the sealing has been completed; the totality of desire is God Most High.