غزل شمارهٔ 1515

How close your soul is to my soul! For whatever thing you are thinking, I know.

I have a token even closer than this; come close, and behold my token.

In dervish guise you come into the midst; do not jest and say, “I am in the midst.”

I am like the column amidst your house; I am like a waterspout hanging down from your roof.

I am a sharer of your secrets on the day of mustering and resurrection, I am not a passing host like worldly friends.

In your banquet I go round like the wine, in time of your battle I go before you like a lance.

If like lightning I make a trade of dying, like the lightning of your beauty I am without a tongue.

Always I am joyful; it makes no difference whether I yield my soul, or seize a soul.

If I give you my soul, it will be good trade, for in exchange for a soul you will give me a hundred worlds.

In this house thousands and more are dead; there you are seated saying, “Behold my household!”

A handful of dust says, “I was once a tress”; another says, “I am a bone.”

You become bewildered; then suddenly Love comes saying, {“Come to me, for I am the one eternally alive.

Embrace my smooth breast to your breast, so that I may} deliver you this very instant from yourself.”

Silence, Khusrau, speak no more of Sh¯ır¯ın; my mouth is burning with sweetness.