غزل شمارهٔ 2000

Since you deserted me death is for me joy and ease; without you, death has become for me like honey and milk.

The waterless fish quivers on that rough sand until its feeble soul may become parted from its body.

For the living ones, the water of life has become the water of bitterness; pure sugar has become worse for them than the grave and winding-sheet.

It is no mere game, the drawing of the part to the origin, the All; how often the prophet wept for love of his homeland!

The child who does not know his homeland and birthplace desires a nurse; Istanbul or Yemen—they are all one to him.

The star goes to graze in the pasture of the skies; the animal worships earth, like cypress and jasmine.

Though I close my mouth to silence this lamentation, it is not possible to close one’s mouth in the belly of the water.

The frog’s breath is of water, not of the wind of the air; this is the custom and craft of sea creatures.

Gnostics who are hidden in that ocean of light, their breath is all of darkness-shattering light.

When I reached this point, my pen and tablet broke; the mountain is shattered when it becomes aware of the Lord of Grace.