غزل شمارهٔ 1139

Look not for happiness when the Beauty’s inclination is set on sorrow, for you are prey in the clutches of a lion, my dear friend.

Though the Beloved sprinkles plaster on your head, welcome that as if it was Tartary musk.

Since within you lurks a hidden enemy, there is no repelling that monster save by harshness.

The man who beats a stick on a rug, it is not aimed at the rug, but the whole purpose is to rid the rug of dust.

Layers of dust are within you, consisting of the veil of egoism; that dust is not got rid of at a single blow;

With each harshness and each blow, little by little that is dispersed from the cheek of the heart, now sleeping, now awake.

If you take flight in sleep, in dreams you will see the cruelty of the Beloved and the execrations of that Benefactor.

Scraping a stick is not in order to destroy the stick, it is for a good purpose in the heart of the carpenter.

For this reason every evil on God’s path is good, for that He will show man pure and refined at the end of the affair.

Consider the hide which the tanner rubs in all manner of filth a thousand times over,

So that the inward flaw may go forth from the hide, even though the hide knows naught of little or much.

Sun and Pride of Tabriz, you possess great virtues; make haste, for you have a mighty power in the secrets.