Number 7

At dawn the nightingale cried out love before the throne of God: I am the one who loves You. Weak and worn, walking the path of pure solitude; look on my state with kindness, my Lord. We are wounded and exhausted, send us a balm; when the balm arrives, one clarity follows another. My heart wandered the world in the grief of love; when it saw Your face it said, 'Whoever sees You is glad.' Your remembrance is our soul, Your beauty is our triumph; we have been with You in this world for years. You would grasp it, and nothing hidden would remain, if for a moment you knew the secret of 'There is no hero like Ali.' You who challenge me, do not ask about the state of Qasim; we are drowned in union, annihilated in annihilation.