Muntakhab al-tawarikh 366.9

366.9

“On the day on which I arise, crying out for grief at her absence The hand of my heart is twisted in the skirt of separation. With those tears which are mingled with my heart’s blood, I shed on my skirt the blood of two thousand hearts.” “In the ocean of my heart a sea of blood is in turmoil, A hundred hells of pain are burning within me. I shall strike fire into the structure of the world From this madness which burns within me.” “Seek not a sweetheart lest thy whole heart turn to blood, Lest thou be not hers until thou art completely changed, Lest thou become distracted, deranged, and mad, Lest thou depart completely from the fashion of the age.” “Although the seekers after His beauty are many Not every eye is worthy to catch a glimpse of the Face of the Friend; Not all idolatry is worthy of the sacred thread, Nor is every head worthy of adorning the gibbet.” “Every moment my heart arranges its thoughts of thee, And makes a thousand guesses as to where thou art. I fear, my love, that the bird of my soul Will one day fly from its cage in the desire to be with thee.” “O thou who hast laden thy camel, And hast fallen asleep, forgetful of the march, Wake, and set in the road the foot of search, For all have gone and thou, too art of this caravan.” “Thou hearest the shout of departure from all Thou hearest the cry ‘Come on’ both before and behind All have made a night march to a distant halting-place Whilst thou hast slept by the road and hearest but the sound of the bell.”