He leaped and throbbed with joy, spun around, and fell into prostration.
The unconscious lover returned to himself and turned to praise and thank the beloved.
He said, "O Phoenix of truth, the sanctuary of the soul, thank you for returning from that Mount Qaf.
O Seraph of the love's resurrection, you are the love of love and the desire of love.
The first gift you will give me, I wish for an ear to place upon my window.
Though you know my state in purity, listen to my words, O nurturer of servants.
A hundred thousand times, O unique leader, my mind has flown from the desire for your ear.
You are the listener, and that listening of yours, and those soul-enhancing smiles of yours.
That drinking of mine, more or less, is the allure of my ill-wishing soul.
First, hear how I remained from the arrow, the beginning and the end escaped from me.
Secondly, hear, O kind leader, that I sought you much, but there was no second.
Thirdly, since I have left you, it seems I have spoken of the third of the three.
Fourthly, since our field was burned, I do not know the fifth from the fourth.
Wherever you find blood on the ground, it is surely from our eyes.
He said, "I am thunder, and this sound and wailing is from the cloud, wanting to rain upon the earth.
I weave between speaking and crying, should I cry or speak, what should I do?
If I speak, the crying will be lost, and if I do not speak, how can I give thanks and praise?
From my eyes falls the blood of my heart, O king, see what has fallen from my eyes.
He said this and entered into tears, that frail one, upon whom both the lowly and the noble wept.
From his heart arose such a clamor that the people of Bukhara gathered around him.
Astonished speakers, astonished weepers, astonished laughers, men and women, young and old, were bewildered.
The city became like him, shedding tears, men and women mingled as if it were the Day of Resurrection.
The sky said at that moment to the earth, "If you have not seen the Resurrection, behold it now."
Reason was bewildered by what love is and what state, whether separation from it is more wondrous or union.
The heavens have read the book of the Resurrection, tearing their garments up to the Milky Way.
With both worlds, love is alien, within it seventy-two madnesses.
Its wonder is deeply hidden and apparent, the soul of the sultans' souls longs for it.
Beyond the seventy-two nations is its creed, the thrones of kings are mere boards before it.
The minstrel of love plays this tune at the time of the dance, servitude is a chain, and lordship a headache.
So what is love but the sea of non-existence, where reason's foot is broken?
Servitude and sovereignty became known, through these two veils, love was concealed.
If only existence had a tongue to lift the veils from being.
Whatever you say, O breath of existence, know that you have placed another veil upon it.
The calamity of understanding is that word and state, washing blood with blood is impossible and impossible.
As I am intimate with its mad ones, day and night I breathe within the cage.
Intensely drunk, unconscious, and disheveled, last night, O soul, on which side did you sleep?
Beware, beware, be alert, for a moment on the fire, first leap and seek intimacy.
Lover and drunk, with tongue loosened, Allah, Allah, a camel on the gutter.
When the tongue speaks of its secret and coquetry, the sky recites, "O beautiful concealer."
What concealment is there when fire is in wool and cotton, the more you cover it, the more apparent it becomes.
When I strive to hide its secret, it raises its head like a banner, saying, "Here I am."