غزل شمارهٔ 543

My Beloved leaves me not so much as to scratch my own head; it is the body of my Beloved that presses me in its breast.

Now He draws me in His train like a string of camels, anon the King places me in front like the commander of His troops.

Anon He sucks me like a seal-ring, to plant His seal through me; anon He makes me into a ring and fastens me on His door.

He takes blood and makes a sperm, He takes sperm and fashions a creature; He slays the creature and fashions Reason, He makes manifest the resurrection.

Now He drives me away with a reed like a dove from the house, anon with a hundred entreaties He calls me to His presence.

Now He carries me like a ship on a voyage over the sea, anon He halts me and ties me to His own anchor.

Now He makes me water for the sake of the seeker after purity, anon He makes me a thorn in the path of His luckless ones.

The eternal eight paradises did not become the prospect of that King; how happy is this heart of mine, which He makes His prospect!

Not by the attestation of faith did I become a believer in that Beauty of the Soul; only then did I become a believer in It when I became an unbeliever in myself.

Whoever joined His ranks became secure from destruction by Him; I saw the sword in His hand, I burned that shield of mine.

I was like-pinioned with Gabriel, I had six hundred wings; now that I have reached Him, what shall I do with my wings?

Many days and nights I was guardian of the pearl of my soul; now in the current of the ocean of pearls I am indifferent to my own pearl.

How long will you essay to describe Him? For He comes not within description; make enough, that I may ride over my commotion.