غزل شمارهٔ 1095

That beauty handed me a broom saying, “Stir up the dust from the sea!”

He then burned the broom in the fire saying, “Bring up the broom out of the fire!”

In bewilderment I made prostration before him; he said, “Without a prostrator, offer a graceful prostration!”

“Ah, how prostrate without a prostrator?” He said, “Unconditionally, without personal impulse.”

I lowered my neck and said, “Cut off the head of a prostrator with Dhu ’l-Faq¯ar.”

The more he struck with the sword, the more my head grew, till heads a myriad sprouted from my neck;

I was a lamp, and every head of mine was as a wick; sparks flew on every side.

Candles sprang up out of my heads, east to west was filled with the train.

What are east and west in the placeless? A dark bath-stove, and a bath at work.

You whose temperament is cold, where is the anxiety of your heart? How long this dwelling at rest in these baths?

Go forth from the baths and enter not the stove; strip yourself, and look upon those paintings and figures,

Until you behold the ravishing figures, until you behold the hues of the tulip-bed.

When you have beheld, look towards the window, for that beauty became a beauty through the reflection of the window.

The six directions are the bath, and the window is the placeless; above the window is the beauty of the Prince.

Earth and water acquired colour from his reflection, soul rained on Turk and Zanzibari.

The day is gone, and my story has not grown short—O night and day put to shame by his tale!

King Shams al-D¯ın-i Tabr¯ız¯ı keeps me intoxicated, cropsickness upon crop-sickness.