غزل شمارهٔ 2043

Did you see what January said? Lay brushwood like a stack: if December brought not cold, the cold of both be on me.

Since the cold has become stubborn, lay brushwood on the fire. Do you spare brushwood? Is brushwood better, or the body?

Brushwood is the fleeting form, God’s love is the fire: burn up the forms, O pure-skirted soul!

Until you burn up the form, your spirit will be frozen, like idol worshipers far from springtime and security.

In firelike love, be happy like silver; since you are a child of Abraham, fire is your dwelling.

By God’s command, fire becomes for true men tulip and rose, clusters of basil, willow and lily.

The believer knows the spell and recites it over the fire; the heat remains in it no more, it remains shining as the moon.

Blessed be the spell through which peace befalls in a fire which can transform iron into needle.

The moth flings itself upon the kindled fire because the fire reveals itself lit in the shape of a window.

To H. amza arrow and spear appear as scattering roses; in a scatter of roses no man clothes himself in armor.

Pharaoh was dissolved in the water like whey; Moses sat on the brow of the water like oil.

Horses of spirit are the carriers of princes; dull and sluggish horses carry packs and dung.

Speech is like a hopper on the mill of meaning; the mill turns by water, not by regulating the hopper.

From that hopper, my brother, the wheat leaps from the bucket and falls in the mill and becomes well and truly ground.

So from that hopper of expression, out of the bucket of greed and negligence, you fall into the mill, that is in a clearly expressed way.

My soul, I am becoming hot, but not from chatter; it is from the golden Sun of the Faith, from whom Tabriz is like a mine.