غزل شمارهٔ 791

This fledgling pigeon essayed the air and flew off when he heard a whistle and a call from the unseen.

When that Desire of all the world sent a messenger saying, “Come to Me,” how should not the disciple’s soul take flight?

How should it not fly upwards on discovering such pinions, how should it not rend the body’s robe on the arrival of such a missive?

What a moon it is that draws all these souls! What a way is that secret way by which it drew!

Divine compassion sent a letter saying, “Come back hither, for in this narrow cage your soul has fluttered much.

But in the house without doors you are like a bird without wings; so the fowl of the air does when it has fallen low.

Restlessness opens to it the door of compassion at last; beat your wings against door and roof—this is the key.

Until you call on Me, you do not know the way of returning; for by Our calling the way becomes manifest to the reason.”

Whatever mounts up, if it be old it becomes new; whatever new descends here, through time it becomes threadbare.

Ho, strut proudly into the unseen, do not look back, in God’s protection, for there all is profit and increase.

Ha, silent one, depart to the Saki of Being, who gave you His pure wine in this sullied cup.