I’m never full of you. That is my only crime. Please do not finish loving me, my haven of both worlds.
But his cup grows tired of me. There is no carrier, no receptacle. And every moment this fish out of water grows thirsty.
Break the pitcher and tear that waterskin for I am heading for the sea. Make clear my way!
How long will the earth be swamped in my tears? How long will the sky be darkened by the smoke and ashes of my grief?
How long will my heart lament my heart, my desolate heart? How long will I howl before the specter of my sovereign?
Go to the sea where my wave of joy approaches. Watch my house and sanctuary as they drown within its breakers.
Last night the holy water of life overflowed my courtyard. The moon tumbled into the well like Joseph cast into the pit.
The rising waters flooded my harvest. Smoke rose from the heart of my home. Both grain and chaff were devoured.
My crop is gone but I shall not grieve. Why grieve? Just that halo of light around the moon is more than enough for me.
He pierced my heart. His likeness was that of fire. Its flames engulfed my skull. Even my prayer cap was consumed.
Do our ceremonies diminish dignity and ruin our respect? Who cares about my dignity. His love is my respect.
I thirst for neither intellect nor wisdom. His knowledge is enough for me. His faint face at midnight is the light of my dawn.
The forces of sorrow are gathering but I do not fear them, for our cavalry, legion on legion, has captured eternity.
But at the end of every ode, my heart laments the coming discourse. The law of God is summoning my heart again.
~transcreated from an Arberry translation (A-225) of a Rumi ghazal (F-1823)
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