غزل شمارهٔ 2408

The sun has risen from the depths of the water, hear L¯a il¯aha illa ’ll¯ah from every mote.

Why speak of motes? When the sun of the soul arrived, they robbed from the sun its very cloak and cap.

The moon of the heart like Adam has emerged from water and clay, and a hundred suns like Joseph are going down into the well.

Lift a head from the earth, for you are not less than an ant; carry to the ants the tidings of the plain and threshing floor.

The ant was satisfied with that rotted grain because it was not aware of our verdant ear of corn.

Say to the ant, “It is springtime, and you have hands and feet; why do you not make your way from the tomb to the open land?”

Why speak of ants? Solomon has rent the robe of yearning; punish me not, O God, for this useless image.

But they cut a gown to fit the purchaser’s figure; though the garment is long, the stature is short.

Bring a long stature, that we may cut a gown before whose length the moon’s bowstring is broken.

I keep silence hereafter, that through my silence truth and falsehood may be separated as grain from chaff.