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There are poems that whisper, and there are poems that consume.
This ghazal by Attar of Nishapur does not whisper; it burns.
It is not a prayer spoken in calm devotion, but a cry from within the flame itself; the voice of one who has already given everything, even the ashes of himself, to love.
Attar’s verses are the record of a disappearance. The poem begins with fire and ends with nothing; no name, no self, not even belief or disbelief. It is the story of how love erases all that is not love.
Let us walk, then, into this fire.