غزل شمارهٔ 304

Do you not know what the rebeck says concerning tears of the eyes and burning hearts?

“I am a skin far sundered from the flesh; how should I not lament in separation and torment?”

The stick also says, “I was once a green branch; that cavalcade broke and tore to pieces my saddle.”

We are exiles in separation; O kings, give ear to us—“To God is the returning.”

From God in the first place we sprang in the world; to Him likewise we revert from the revolution.

Our cry is like the bell in the caravan, or as thunder when the clouds travel the sky.

Wayfarer, set not your heart upon a lodging-place, becoming weary at the time of attraction;

For you have departed from many a stage, from the sperm until the season of youth.

Take it lightly, that you may escape easily; give up readily, and so find the reward.

Take hold of Him firmly, for He has taken firm hold on you; first He and last He—go, discover Him.

Gently He draws the bow, for that arrow of His quivers in the hearts of the lovers.

Be the lover Turk or Greek or Arab, this cry right enough is fellow-tongue with him.

The wind is lamenting and calling to you, “Come in my wake, even to the river of water.

I was water; I became wind; I have come to deliver the thirsty ones from this mirage.”

Speech is that wind which was formerly water; it becomes water when it casts off the veil.

This shout arose from without the six directions: “Flee from direction, and turn not your face from Us.”

O lover, you are not less than the moth; when does the moth ever avoid the flame?

The King is in the city; for the sake of the owl how should I abandon the city and occupy the ruin?

If an ass has gone mad, strike the ox-whip upon its head until its senses return.

If I seek his heart, his worthlessness increases still more; God said regarding the unbelievers, Strike their necks.