Poem 17

Whoever spits at the face of the sky, that spit falls back forever onto his own face. How long will you worship this ignorance? How long will you follow your appetites and lust? If you are truly a man, tell me: why all this blind rejection of God's ecstatic ones? They are the kings of the realm of the spirit, the royal falcons of the nearness described as 'and We drew nearer.' In the encompassing sea of 'Be, and it is,' they are the soul's true purpose and its farthest goal. They are the guides of wisdom on the road to salvation, the travelers of the path of truth and purity. They drink from the cup of the Eternal One, the fair faced ones of the most beautiful beauty. It is beyond us to describe these kings. Our Lord, keep us well and have mercy on us. What a pity if you cannot tell the jewel of the soul from a hard, deaf stone. In his ignorance the town's ascetic cannot tell a cheap glass bead from a gleaming pearl. Qasemi, whatever exists is devotion to Him. My master, our Lord, in You we place our trust.