You who are imam of love, say All¯ah Akbar, for you are drunk; shake your two hands, become indifferent to existence.
You were fixed to a time, you made haste; the time of prayer has come. Leap up—why are you seated?
In hope of the qibla of God you carve a hundred qibla; in hope of that idol’s love you worship a hundred idols.
Fly upwards, O soul, O obedient soul; the moon is above, the shadow is low.
Do not like a beggar knock your hand at any door; knock at the ring of the door of heaven, for you have a long arm.
Since the flagon of heaven has made you like that, be a stranger to the world, for you have escaped out of self.
I say to you, “How are you?” No one ever says to the “howless” soul, “How are you?”
Tonight you are drunk and dissolute, come tomorrow and you will see what bags you have torn, what glasses you have broken.
Every glass I have broken was my trust in you, for myriadwise you have bound up the broken.
O secret artist, in the depths of your soul you have a thousand forms, apart from the moon and the Lady of the Moon [Mahast¯ı].
If you have stolen the ring, you have opened a thousand throats; if you have wounded a breast, you have given a hundred souls and hearts.
I have gone mad; whatever I say in madness, quickly say, “Yes, yes,” if you are privy to Alast.
زمین
