O Sufis of love, tear your robes

The flower made a hundred garments ripple from the pleasure of the morning breeze

Because it remained far from the beloved and became entangled by thorns

From both of these pains, the flower was freed by the command of coming (or destiny)

(Someone) appeared from the unseen, called out, and departed

That this path is short if you do not have a foot to walk it

I also became silent and followed the flower

(Convey) my greetings and service to basil and tulip

The heart became full of words, and possibility said 'no'

O soul of the Sufis, open your lips to the story

Tell of those states that have not yet come

For it is not the nature of Sufis to mention the past