O you whose absence has turned my joy and comfort into death, death without you has become like honey and milk for me.
A fish flutters on the rough sand until its frail soul separates from its body.
The water of life has become bitter for the creatures, and dry sugar is worse for them than a grave and shroud.
There is no play in the attraction of the part to its whole origin; many prophets wept for the love of their homeland.
A child who does not know his homeland and birthplace, what does he care for Istanbul or Yemen?
The stars have become pasture for the celestial meadow, and earthly creatures worship like cypress and jasmine.
Though I close my mouth from this lament, one cannot close the mouth in the belly of water.
The breath of the owl is from water, not from the wind; this is known and a skill for the sailors.
The mystics hidden in that ocean of light, their breath is entirely light, shattering the darkness.
When we reached here, the pen and tablet broke; the mountain breaks when it becomes aware of the Lord of grace.