غزل شمارهٔ 1850

My world-illuminating lamp is not shining so brightly; strange—is this the fault of the eye, or the light, or the window?

Has perchance the end of the thread become lost? What has become of that past state? In that state the tip of the needle does not remain hidden.

Happy the moment when the farr¯ash of “we spread” within this mosque pours oil from the olive of God into this lantern of the heart!

Heart, enter the crucible of fire, sit there quietly like a man, for through the influence of this fire the iron became such a mirror.

When Abraham entered the flames like gold coin, there grew from the face of the fire a jasminebed and roses and lilies.

If you do not bring your heart out of this tumult into this passion, what will you do with this heart? Come, sit here and tell me.

If out of unmanliness you do not enter the ring of true men, be outside like a ring on men’s door and knock.

Since the prophet said “Fasting is a protection,” lay hold of that, do not cast away this shield before the arrow-shooting carnal soul.

On this dry land a shield is necessary; when you reach the sea, then there will grow on your body a coat of mail like a fish to repel his shafts.