English
In the Name of God, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful
In the name of God, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful.
Praise be to God, who has shone the lights of His knowledge upon the hearts of those who know Him, who has lit their inner sight with sparks of His guidance, and brightened their secret depths with the radiance of His outpouring. Praise be to God, who has drawn the hearts of His lovers with the magnet of His attraction, set their hearts ablaze with the flames of His love, and quenched their thirst from the pools of His grace; who has made the people of intimacy intimate with Him alone, and revealed Himself to His beloved ones in the light of His holiness. Praise be to God, who has kindled the hearts of those who come to Him with the embers of both His union and His withdrawal: now drawing them in from the bounds of witnessing, now opening them out again through the abundance of His generosity. He does what He wills and decrees what He wishes. He is the beloved of lovers, who love none but Him; the sought of the knowers, who seek none but Him; the ultimate desire of the longing, who desire none but Him; the final hope of those who reach Him, who never part from Him; the support of those who trust, who lean on none but Him; and the goal of the contented, who never object to Him. In Him is my trust, and He is enough for me. To Him be praise, the One, the Unique, the Single, the Eternal. And blessings and peace upon the Light of all lights, the Secret of all secrets, the form of all matter and the cause of all creation, the supported servant and the rightly guided messenger, the seal of the prophets, Muhammad, and upon his blessed family, the shining stars, the masters of mankind and the twelve Imams, as long as the sun rises and the moon gives light.
And then: here for you is the dawning place of the lights of holiness, the speech of the secrets of intimacy, the companion of the stranger and the comfort of the grieving; an introduction that stirs love and affection and inflames the fire of longing in the heart; the cure for the sickness of separation and the healing of the breasts of lovers; the guide that leads the seeker to the sought and brings the lover to the beloved. Toward it the hearts of lovers incline, and from it the hearts of the yearning burn. So listen to what is recited to you, follow what is cast before you, and be among the thankful. Praise be to God, first and last, and may God bless Muhammad and his family.
The bird of my nature has a longing in its head;
it wants to fly straight toward the beloved.
It wants once more the polo field of words,
so my pen can snatch up the ball of meaning.
This head of mine, full of passion, is in turmoil,
though I myself don't know whose passion it is.
A fire has been lit inside my soul,
and it has burned away the harvest of my patience and peace.
Each moment it melts me, strand by strand,
dragging me by the hair from side to side.
A burning is clear, but no one doing the burning;
a turning is clear, but no one doing the turning.
Sometimes it pulls me with fire, sometimes with gentleness;
sometimes it kills me by force, sometimes with grace.
Sometimes it takes me to the threshold of pleading,
sometimes to the private chamber of coquetry.
Now it makes me a parrot, now a crow;
now it makes me joyful, now scarred with grief.
Sometimes it drags me by the hair into speech,
sometimes it says: hush, don't make a sound.
Sometimes it soothes me, sometimes it burns me;
sometimes it stirs me up, sometimes it settles me down.
Sometimes it caresses me, sometimes it melts me;
sometimes it lifts me up, sometimes it casts me down.
Who is this tailor who now tears, now sews?
Who is this fire master who now breathes life, now burns?
Sometimes it absorbs me into the wonder of His signs;
sometimes it shows its glory and leaves me checkmated.
When I want to explain this passion,
I disgrace my far seeing reason.
That cautious, calculating mind says: don't speak,
don't break up the gathering of the free.
Draw a veil over the secrets of this work,
so no stranger can find the beloved's secret.
Reason seals my mouth, telling me to be silent,
yet the turmoil of love keeps boiling over in me.
Love pays no heed to such talk;
it keeps kindling fire in my soul.
Its fire grows greater every moment;
its burning changes shape with every breath.
So love and reason fell to war,
and the glass of my good name was dashed against the stone.