Every moment the Soul is decaying and growing before you, and how should any man plead with you for the sake of a single soul?
Wherever you set your foot a head springs from the earth; for one head’s sake how should anyone wash his hands of you?
On the day when the soul takes flight in joy at your scent, the soul knows, the soul knows, what scent wafts from the Beloved.
Once your crop-sickness diminishes from the brain, the head raises a hundred laments, every hair is groaning.
I have emptied house, that I may be filled with your furniture; I am waning, that your love may wax and increase.
My soul in the train of Shams al-H. aqq-i Tabr¯ız¯ı is scudding like a ship without feet over the sea.
