Desire the lovers, O soul, the absent chief

Sit among the intoxicated, behold the moon and stars

That day full of wonders and that resurrection gathering

Has become immersed in wonders before your beauty

When you recited the good things, you scattered them upon the good

Who is more good than you, O mine of the best things?

The soul has a certain sovereignty from you every moment

From whom do I say this thanks, from the king or from the master?

You have put the pure souls of the pocketed ones in the pocket of the earth

Head in the collar like observing Sufis

When your love entered, thought died before it

Your love is the true dawn, thought is the false dawn

O intellect, be amazed, seek neither union nor separation

How do you listen for union from him who is not absent?

What is the soul? Poverty and need. Who gives life but you?

O qibla of needs, beloved of desires

Behold, the resurrection has become present, here is a sign

Your sun has risen from the west

Attract the fugitives, the ones who have reached affliction

With those soulful attractions, O attraction, you are dominant

So that these two eyes may see the dawn of God has risen

The trap of seeking has been torn, the sought has become the seeker

What is love and seeking but the mirror of manifestation?

What is image and envy but the mirror of faults?

Where is the nightingale of the gardens so that I might tell words

That have not passed over mouths or the hand of any scribe

Not from the images of form, not from purity or turbidity

Not from the past or the present, not from piety or ranks

My intellect has gone out of place, you say the rest

O you from whose door no one has gone hopeless or absent