In truth everything and everyone
Is a shadow of the Beloved,
And our seeking is His seeking
And our words are His words…
We search for Him here and there,
…while looking right at Him.
Sitting by His side, we ask:
‘O Beloved, where is the Beloved?’
our children do in the morning?
Will they wake with their hearts wanting to play,
the way wings
the strength from the planets that all men and women need to balance
the wonderful charms of
that it will endure almost anything, even abuse,
just to flicker for a moment. But the sky’s mouth is kind,
its song will never hurt you, for I
sing those words.
if they do not see us
it’s almost invisible.
How can You place
such big sorrows in it?
“your eyes are even smaller,
yet they behold the world.”
Hidden from all eyes and ears
let us tell each other of our soul.
Smile like a rose with no lips
and keep silent like a thought.
Let us speak silently the secret like Spirit
and avoid talkers who use words in vain.
Let us join our hands
listen to every flutter of our heart
let us become one in silence.
Divine destiny knows our fate
to the last detail.
Let our story be told in a silent way.
click image to enlarge/o. link
Again, the violet bows to the lily.
Again, the rose is tearing off her gown!
The green ones have come from the other world,
tipsy like the breeze up to some new foolishness.
Again, near the top of the mountain
the anemone’s sweet features appear.
The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine,
“Peace be with you.” “And peace to you, lad!
Come walk with me in this meadow.”
Again, there are sufis everywhere!
The bud is shy, but the wind removes
her veil suddenly, “My friend!”
The Friend is here like water in the stream,
like a lotus on the water.
The narcissus winks at the wisteria,
“Whenever you say.”
And the clove to the willow, “You are the one
I hope for.” The willow replies, “Consider
these chambers of mine yours. Welcome!”
The apple, “Orange, why the frown?”
“So that those who mean harm
will not see my beauty.”
The ringdove comes asking, “Where,
where is the Friend?”
With one note the nightingale
indicates the rose.
Again, the season of Spring has come
and a spring-source rises under everything,
a moon sliding from the shadows.
Many things must be left unsaid, because it’s late,
but whatever conversation we haven’t had
tonight, we’ll have tomorrow
to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First, to let go of life.
In the end, to take a step without feet;
to regard this world as invisible,
and to disregard what appears to be the self.
Heart, I said, what a gift it has been
to enter this circle of lovers,
to see beyond seeing itself,
to reach and feel within the breast.