غزل شمارهٔ 2684

I heard that you praised your servant—who am I? You have shown yourself such kindness.

You are the ruby-mine, the soul of amber; in compassion you ravished a blade of straw.

I was a worthless and valueless piece of iron; you polished me, made me a mirror.

You ransomed me from the flood of extinction, for you are both Noah and the Ark of Judi.

Heart, if you have burned, give scent like aloewood; if you are raw, then burn now, for you are firewood.

I slept under the shadow of fortune; you opened a way for me beside the five senses.

On that road it is possible to go to east and west, without feather, without head or foot.

On that road is no thorn of free will; no Christian is there, no Jew.

The soul, beyond the circumference of its blue sky, is escaped from blueness and blindness.

Why do you weep? Go to the laughing ones. Why do you tarry? Go to the same place where you once were.

From this honey, which has a hundred kinds of sting, has anything increased except boils?