I am never satisfied with you, and this is my only sin. Do not be satisfied with my mercy, O refuge of both worlds.
The jar, the water carrier, and his skin have grown weary of me, yet my fish, which desires water, becomes thirstier every moment.
Break the jug and tear the skin, for I am heading towards the sea; clear my path.
How long will the earth become muddy from my tears? How long will the sky darken from the sorrow and smoke of my sighs?
How long will this heart of mine lament, oh my ruined heart? How long will these lips of mine wail before the vision of my king?
Head towards the sea, for waves of purity come from it; see how my house and monastery are submerged by its waves.
The water of life surged last night from the courtyard of my house; my Joseph fell yesterday like the moon into my well.
The flood came suddenly and swept away all my harvest; smoke rose from my heart, burning my grain and straw.
If my harvest is gone, I will not grieve, for why should I grieve? A hundred like me are enough, and my moonlight harvest is sufficient.
He entered my heart, and his vision was fiery; the fire went to my head, and my hat was burned.
He said that from the music, honor and prestige would diminish; your prestige, which is his love, is my fortune and my honor.
I do not want reason and wisdom; his knowledge is enough for me. The light of his face at midnight is the dawn of my morning.
The army of sorrow gathers, but I do not grieve for his army, for my army of seekers has reached the heavens.
After each ghazal, my heart repents from conversation; my divine inspiration blocks my heart's path.